Blowback
by JackAddict
Summary: They left CTU. But that doesn't mean that they're safe... Tony, Michelle and Jack fight to live another day, against a very real, dark, personal threat. No White House, no EMPs, but lots of suspense, action, angst, and some fluff. Please R&R.
1. Prologue

A/N: Hey people

**A/N: **Hey people!! Remember me? ;-) Yes, I know, it's been a while... However, I still exist, and I'm writing. Slowly, though. There's so much life going on right now that I don't always have the energy to sit down with Tony, Michelle and Jack.. But at least I do do it after all ;-). So... because I've been missing all of ya, I've decided to unveil the prequel to my next story, which I have about 62 pages written of so far. I can't promise you the updates will be in close succession, but what I can promise you is a thrilling ride that you will want to stay on :D.

_"Blowback" _is told from Tony's POV if he's in a scene and from Jack's POV when Jack is 'in the lead'. I'll take artistic liberty in the scenes where they interact. Tony and Michelle don't appear in the prequel yet, but trust me, this will eventually be more about them than about Bauer ;-).

_Almeida is God_:D

I hope this fic is yet more mature than the previous ones, but the final verdict is in your hands. Please review the story as it is posted.

Thanks and enjoy!

JA

**Disclaimer **goes as usual: I do not own 24, the characters from the show are copyright FOX Entertainment. However, the story is a product of my own imagination.

* * *

_**Hood Mountain Regional Park, Santa Rosa, California**_

The heat coming from the flames engulfing the forest was almost unbearable. The wildfire had long ago taken on a life of its own, sweeping through the dry woods like a hungry dragon. The flames grew stronger with every bush they ate, grew taller with every tree trunk they climbed, turning the forest into one giant fireplace. Seen from afar, in the cloudless California summer night, the fire seemed to be the only living thing. The animals had fled in panic, if they could, and no human being, save the firefighters, would purposefully enter the burning kingdom of the unpredictable monster. Its many hands glowed in the prettiest shades of yellow and orange, ripping the darkness apart, yet there was nothing pretty in the destructive force that came with them. The black smoke rising towards the sky seemed to swallow the full moon like a hungry wolf at one moment, only to spit it out and then re-engulf it moments later.

Every so often, a helicopter would roar by and drop its payload of water onto the burning forest, in an attempt to tame the monster. Away from the edge of the fire front, bulldozers and chainsaws worked noisily. Firefighters, tree loggers and other helpers, cut trees, dragged wood and burned bushes along a creek to create a firebreak, a fuel-free channel through the woods as a cut off point for the fire. The flames weren't their only enemy; time and wind were just as crucial.

Two men stood by a pickup truck. One of them was bent over a map of the area that lay on the truck's hood, the other, the strike team leader, was talking to his two-way.

"Copy that," he said into the radio. "Keep us posted. Over." He then joined his map-reading colleague. "Winds unchanged. Situation seems stable."

"Good. Once we flood the creek, who knows, we might get lucky."

"Yeah. And we might get rain tomorrow night."

"Good. 'Cause the residential areas in the East are right around the corner."

Both men looked thoughtfully at the giant fireball.

"This is probably what Hell looks like," the team leader noted.

Just then, a man, barely in his twenties, came running from the direction of the burning woods. He wore a hardhat and carried an axe in his hands. Tools were hanging from a tool belt around his waist, but he was dressed in plain clothes rather than in a firefighters overall. He ran up to a group of lumberjacks working on cutting down a tree and called, "Ray!"

Two men turned their heads in response. One had been cutting down the tree and the other was helping two other men carry an already felled tree trunk out of the way.

"Which one, Josh?" the tree cutting Ray called.

The answer was directed at the other Ray, the larger of the two. "Keagan. I need your help, come on!"

"Excuse me," Ray Keagan said in a deep voice. "Mack, can you take over?"

"Sure."

Mack laid down his axe and took Ray's place, then Ray let go of the tree. Running to Josh, he readjusted his hardhat, his blue eyes blinking underneath it for a second in the light from the equipment around them. He ran one large, rough hand over his normally blond hair that was now ash-white.

"What is it, Josh?" he then asked, running to meet the young man. Standing in the white beam of Josh's flashlight was the stern, sweaty face of Jack Bauer.

"I found a body in the woods. I can't move the trunk on my own."

"A _dead_ body?"

Josh was already running. Cursing inwardly, Jack began to sprint, too. He followed Josh towards the burning trees for a quarter of a mile or so, then Josh led them away from the fire, to an area that had burned previously but was now under control, the fire that had destroyed it, extinguished.

"Over here!" Josh yelled, and that's when Jack saw it. A male body was lying face down on the ground, a charred tree trunk lying across his back. Jack knew with one glance that the man couldn't possibly still be alive.

"Here, help me move this!" Josh gestured to the tree trunk.

Jack nodded, and as he approached, without hurry, he understood why Josh wanted so badly to extract the dead body. The metal blade of the man's axe was still tucked in his tool belt, and the remains of his hardhat were partly burned into his head.

"He was one of us," Jack stated.

"Are you going to help me or not?" Josh asked, his hands already underneath the tree trunk, ready to lift it. "That fire might come back this way, you know."

"Sorry." Jack crouched, breathing through his mouth to avoid smelling the complex stench that was rising from the grilled flesh, acrid and sweet at the same time, metallic from the burned blood, sulfuric from the scorched hair, charcoal like from the charred skin. He grabbed the other end of the trunk.

"On three. One, two, three." They tossed the tree trunk to the side, freeing the body. "Let's turn him."

A strong wave of odor rose into their nostrils as they turned the body to its back. Blocking it out, Jack focused on the facts before him. The body couldn't have been lying there long. It hadn't yet begun to decompose before the fire consumed it. The face was burned almost beyond recognition, but even Jack, after as little time as he'd spent working with the men in the area, recognized the drop-shaped nose piercing and the triangular earring in the man's right ear. "That's Tom," he stated evenly.

Josh pressed both hands to his eyes and nose, and turned his head away from the sight. Jack used the moment to take a 360° look of the surroundings. Thirty yards to the side, he spied a canister burned black. He glanced at Josh, whose eyes opened at that moment.

"He must have died fighting the fire," Josh said in a shaky voice, returning his eyes to Jack rather than Tom's body.

Jack glanced to his left for a split second, letting out a faint, "Yeah." Then, he added, "Let's move him out of here," already grabbing Tom's legs.

Josh hesitantly took hold of Tom's wrists.

"Ready?" Jack asked like a father might do before letting go of his son's bicycle for the first time.

"Hold on." Josh turned his back to the body, then took hold of Tom's forearms again. "Now I am."

Jack smirked slightly. "Ok, let's go."

--

While Josh followed the beam that the light on his hardhat shone onto the ground in front of them, Jack kept looking around. The trees in this area seemed to have burned hotter and he was almost sure that the canister he'd seen had been the source of the fire. _But why would Tom start the fire and then let himself get killed in it? It doesn't add up. Arsonists usually like to be seen fighting the fire, they like to watch it burn. _

_Maybe something went wrong. _

_Something sure did go wrong, but was it accidental?_

They hadn't walked fifty yards when Josh suddenly whined, "Ray, wait, set him down."

"Why?" Jack questioned as they laid Tom's body down to the ground again. Josh ran into the scorched bushes and seconds later, began to vomit.

_Never seen a dead body._.. _How different life would have been if I hadn't_.

But then he yanked that thought out of his head. _You wanna pity yourself some more or you wanna take the opportunity you got?_

Throwing a glance at Josh, Jack shifted his position so he could crouch between Tom's body and Josh. He took off his gloves and began to run his hands down what was left of Tom. It was a weird feeling, that of charred flesh. The black surface came off if he pressed too hard, so he tried to keep his touches as gentle as possible. He didn't know what he was looking for, except that he wanted to see if his instincts were still working. Another glance at Josh, and then Jack's fingers felt something that couldn't have been caused by the fire. The two holes in the man's chest were bullet wounds, gone straight to the heart. Jack felt inside one wound for the bullet, and indeed, in the midst of the hardened flesh, the tip of his index finger met with metal. _That explains it. Now it makes sense._

Hearing the coughing sounds coming from Josh had stopped, Jack wiped his hands on his workpants and put his gloves back on. Then footsteps approached and he looked up at Josh. "Feeling better?"

"No," Josh replied sincerely, "but we should probably go on. The last thing I want is to get trapped in a fire circle. And we're not even firefighters."

Jack couldn't have agreed more. _The kid shouldn't be here_. He took the corpse by the ankles. "Grab his arms."

Josh did.

"Go."

Apart from the cracking sound of the branches underneath their shoes, nothing moved or made a sound around them, the ground and the trees seemed dead. And yet, the smoky smell in the air gave away the proximity of the fire which was very much alive.

"Josh," Jack said some thirty steps later.

"What?"

"If you want to go home, they will understand. Technically, this really isn't your job."

"It's not your job, either. And yet you do it."

_The difference is, I can take it. _"That's because I have nothing to lose. You do."

"I dunno, Ray. Our jobs depend on these woods. And the fire squad can use all the help they can get."

"It's not worth risking your life." Jack paused a few moments. "The daybreak is nearing. You haven't slept in 24 hours. You need to go home, rest for a while. Then, if you feel up to it, you can come back, the fire will still be there, I'm sure. If you really want to help, you can still do it later."

"Thanks, Ray, I'll consider it."

A cracking sound from their left was the only warning the tall tree gave before it broke in the middle.

"Watch out!" Jack yelled, letting go of Tom's body and jumping into Josh, pushing him out of the way of the falling tree.

The charred trunk landed on Tom.

Jack rolled off Josh's body and back onto the ground. "You ok?"

­The size of Josh's eyes must have doubled in that second. He had stopped breathing. His face had a distraught look. He was silent for many seconds, his eyes jumping from the half of the tree that was still standing to the upper part that now lay three feet away.

Slowly, he began to breathe again. His eyes fixed on Jack. "You saved-"

"You're welcome," Jack grunted, squeezing Josh's shoulder. Then he got up and stretched a hand out to Josh. "Let's go. We're leaving Tom here. It's too dangerous."

Josh nodded, yet at the same time, a weak "But-" escaped his mouth.

"No," Jack said in a definitive voice. "He's dead. There's nothing we can do for him. They can come back for him when it's safe. Right now, I want to get you back to the others, _alive_. Understood?"

It took Josh some time to nod, but then he wordlessly reached for Jack's hand and stood up.


	2. To Flee or to Fight?

_**Hood Mountain Regional Park, Santa Rosa, California, **Six days later_

Jack was standing at the edge of the forest when the sky on the horizon began to light up. A week ago, standing in the firebreak the firefighting team had just cleared of burning material, he had watched the thick smoke rise from the burning forest and spiral upward, towards the thin, purple clouds that leisurely traveled high above the woods.

Today, the sky was clear. His clothes - blue jeans, dark grey t-shirt, checkered blue shirt and a light brown nubuck-leather jacket - weren't dirty, scorched and torn this time around. They were comfortable and clean, the jacket providing just the right amount of warmth at this early morning hour. He had just arrived at work a little while ago and still felt shreds of sleep in his bones. He straightened his back, leaned his axe on his thigh and stared towards the East. The light grew stronger by the second. Black turned into dark blue, then arches of purple, pink, orange and yellow appeared, each layered on top of the other, prettier than any painter's hand could have made them. Finally, the glowing ball sent out its first rays to cut the misty morning air, like messengers from afar. Following their lead, it eventually found its way through the tree tops and shyly appeared behind the hills.

When the blinding light reached his eyes, Jack squinted but didn't turn away. No matter how often he watched the sun rise, he could never get tired of it. It was the one thing that could never grow old and dull, simply because it was never the same twice.

And no matter how much time passed since Teri's death, each time he watched the spectacle in the sky, he'd think of her. How often had he woken up in the morning to an empty bed, feel his heart skip a beat while he made his way through the house looking for her, just to find her sitting on their balcony, wrapped in her crimson bathrobe and a blanket, with a cup of coffee on the table and her camera on her lap? Many. Even though her workday started early, just like his, Teri would often take the extra twenty minutes to just be, to let nature inspire her, and to greet the day in the prettiest way possible. Sometimes Jack woke up when his wife snuck out of the bed and sat outside with her, massaging her shoulders, only stopping briefly when she told him to, so that she could snap a photo of the rising sun.

They never talked during these morning moments; Teri had never explicitly forbidden him to, yet it seemed as though neither of them wanted to break the magic. Even "I love you" would have been superfluous; it went without saying, with the way Jack, a warrior by calling, gently touched her shoulders or wrapped his strong arms around her waist, the way she leaned back into his chest, snuggling up against him, the way she kissed his lips when the show was over and they went back inside to let the day, be it as it may, come upon them.

Kate Warner, on the other hand, never cared much for sunrise. When she woke up, the sun was usually already up in the sky, and Kate was more of a number person anyway. Taxes, revenues, finances, that was the world she felt safe in, not staring at the sky. _Dreams are but shadows_ is what she would have said, and although she wasn't completely unromantic, facts and figures gave her much more comfort.

Audrey Raines, the level-headed daughter of the Secretary of Defense, would probably have loved the idea, but there was never time for that. Not that she and Jack had had that many mornings together to begin with - things went wrong much too early. Jack had finally, after years of being cautious, allowed himself to start falling for someone again. Audrey had been ready to move on. But Jack's job demanded sacrifices. Audrey's still-husband, Paul, fell prey to it.

Ever since the loss of Teri, nothing Jack had ever done had been harder than letting Paul Raines die in order to save a terrorist. He killed a good guy, a guy who'd saved his life. Nothing had been harder. He might have married Audrey if things had taken a different turn. But life was cruel enough. It gave Jack no time to explain anything to her. They'd been given no chance to get over what had happened that day, and now Jack had gone into hiding, faking his own death. There was no way of letting her know it was just an act, no way of letting her know he was sorry, no way to ask for apology; that conversation between them would never take place.

When his thoughts took turns he didn't like, Jack blocked them. He did it this time, too. He concentrated on the rising sun again and recalled the image of Teri for a final second. He had only really enjoyed sunrise with her, his only wife, and he decided that it was all good. It meant that he could keep the romantic memories of her, him and their early mornings from being influenced by new images and new faces. It was all good.

The breather he'd allowed himself to take came to an end when he became aware of footsteps shuffling the leaves behind him. He turned to see two of his colleagues lay their tools down on the ground and move some twenty feet away from him. The dark skinned one, Terence, was a former basketball player in his early forties, the other was Alan, a young, sturdy, pale Englishman who sometimes didn't even know how he ended up in California. Alan gesticulated when speaking, then stood quiet to listen, before his arms went up into the air again. Jack couldn't hear their words, but his curiosity made him stare at them with interest. As if they'd felt his stare on them, they glanced at him, in response to which he averted his eyes. Terence and Alan then moved a few steps deeper into the woods and kept talking, lowering their voices.

_What's that all about? _former CTU Agent Bauer thought. _I've got to find out._ But a second later, tree logger Keagan disagreed, _No. Whatever this is, it doesn't concern you. You're supposed to be lying low, and not exposing yourself, remember? You're in hiding, Jack. Playing dead._

_That's true, _Jack remembered.

_No need to play Federal Agent._

But as Terence took something from his pocket and the low rays of sun hit and reflected from that object, Jack threw all caution aside and gave himself a push. Striding casually towards them, he took off his hardhat for a second, scratching his head. Terence quickly stuffed the metal object back into his jeans pocket, looking at Jack suspiciously.

"Hey guys, what's up?" Jack asked them. "Taking a break?"

"Yeah," Alan replied, staring at Jack."What's up, mate?"

Jack pulled out a Marlboro from his shirt pocket. "Got a light?"

Terence pressed his lips together before retorting, "Dontcha think one wildfire was 'nuff 'round here? Ya should quit that habit o' yours befo' ya start 'nother."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right. Sorry I disturbed you." He returned the cigarette to its box. "See you around."

He walked away, far enough for them to forget him. Leaning against a tree trunk, his back to the men, he lowered himself down to the ground, as if wanting to relax. Then, when Terence and Alan turned their backs on him, Jack crawled behind a green bush. He still couldn't hear their words, so pure observation would have to do. But somehow things still didn't feel right.

_What are you doing, Jack? You've abandoned everything and everyone to stay alive, and now you're gonna compromise everything out of curiosity? _

_If it's worth it... _

_What if it's not?_

_My instinct never failed me._

"_Now _you're talkin'," Terence's words came out loud enough for Jack to hear, and to underline this statement, he pulled the metal object from his pocket again. As the rays of sun hit it, Jack recognized the unmistakable shape of a Microtech Halo knife blade.

_Where did you get that? _Jack thought but avoided any movements. The two men never glanced in his direction; it seemed they'd forgotten all about him.

"Ready?" Terence asked, and Alan drew a switchblade knife from his own pocket, admired its blade for a second, then nodded. "Yeah."

Wrapping their palms around the knives, the two men looked around. Seeing that no-one was paying attention to them, they began to move. Jack waited until they were some fifty yards away, then ran behind the next large bush.

Keeping his distance, he followed them through the underbrush for ten minutes, until they came upon the wooden cottage that held the "field" office of the logging company they all worked for. It was an unmarked, small building, built on a platform on top of a wooden staircase. Outside the cabin, a polished and shiny black Mercedes G55 AMG SUV stood, clean, except for the tires, like it hadn't just crossed a dirty road into the woods. Jack couldn't see inside through the tinted glass between the rough edges of the boxy vehicle, but he guessed someone was waiting at the wheel. He had no idea whom the Mercedes belonged to, but, at a price of easily a hundred thousand dollars, it surely wasn't their foreman's.

The two men whom Jack had been following ignored the SUV and went straight for the wooden stairs leading to the cabin, their hands now in their pockets. Jack glanced towards the vehicle, where nothing stirred, then watched Terence and Alan knock and enter the cabin.

He sighed to himself. _They're out to kill someone_. _I've got to stop them, _Jack thought from behind a tree. _So much for keeping my cover. _

_Does trouble really follow me everywhere? _

He left that question unanswered.

--

The brown Armani suit on the man inside the cabin must have felt as out of place as its wearer seemed uncomfortable. The man had a rotund face, high cheeks, and an intelligent brow. His dark, bushy eyebrows and deep lines on his forehead contrasted starkly with the other, rather feminine features of his face: a small nose, large, thick lips and huge, gray-blue eyes that seemed stone-cold. His thinning dark hair was neatly combed and styled, parting exactly in the middle, above his nose. He was sitting in a narrow, wooden chair in the middle of the room. The backrest of the chair supported his spine only to about the middle. Terence and Alan stood close to the door, each with knives pulled. The man's eyes didn't focus on either of them, but jumped from one to the other.

"Gentlemen, I regret, but I do not comprehend," he finally said in a high-pitched voice, unsuited for his size. He rolled his r's when speaking, a subtle, but noticeable feature that indicated his foreign origin.

"Sure you do. Ya had Tom killed!" Terence, who was standing maybe five feet away, countered.

"No, no, indeed. You have likely mistakened me for someone else," the man insisted, scratching his right ear. "Believe me, I had nothing to do with your friend's demise."

"Don't you dare lie to us," Alan said, "Tom told us everything. We know what _he_ knew, we know _where_ the evidence is, and we could turn it over to the Feds right now!"

"Yeah, but we gonna slit yer throat instead," Terence added.

The man took a long breath, eventually replying, "_Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it_."

Alan gave Terence a puzzled glance, then turned his eyes to the man in the chair. "What?"

"William Somerset Maugham. A novelist. A very bright man," the reply came. "You should take his advice."

Terence's black eyes lit up with anger. "Ya screwin' with us, punk, huh?"

The man held his hands up, palms to the two intruders. "Listen to me, I implore you. I'm merely a businessman. A prosperous one, granted, yet merely a businessman nonetheless. I am not an assassin." He stood, slowly, and took one tentative step away from the chair.

"Siddown!" Alan ordered him, waving the knife at him.

"As you ask..." Sighing, the man reluctantly obeyed, but kept his hands in place. "I will be candid with you. Your friend, Tom, was my employee, yes. But we have not met or spoken since he resigned a month ago. I acquiesced to your request for a meeting solely because I have nothing to conceal."

"Bullshit!" Terence yelled, stepping towards the man in the chair, the Microtech pointed forward.

At that moment, the door flew open and Jack Bauer burst into the room.

Startled, Alan spun towards the door, but before he could decide how to react, Jack had already grabbed his right hand that was holding the knife, kicked him in the groin and disarmed him. Hooking his right arm with Alan's, Jack pushed with his shoulder and upper body, sending Alan to the floor where Alan remained, pulling his knees to his stomach, hands between his legs.

"What the heck-" Terence began, bracing himself for a fight.

By the time he lunged at Jack, the former Special Ops operative was ready for him. Terence attacked him from above. Jack blocked the attempt and held on to the arm and the knife in it. Terence tried to punch Jack with his left, a move Jack avoided by diverting the blow and stepping aside. He immobilized Terence's right arm by fixing it inside his armpit, then elbowed the black man's chest twice, slid his right arm behind Terence's neck and pulled him down, twisting the knife-holding arm behind Terence's back. Terence's grip on the knife loosened just enough for Jack to take it out of his hand. With both knives now under his control, Jack kneed Terence in the stomach and sent him to the floor, pushing him towards Alan. Then he backed off, choosing a position opposite of all three men in the room.

"Easy now, both of you just calm down," he growled, a little out of breath, but vigilant and ready if more trouble should arise. Neither Terence nor Alan seemed to have any intention of picking another fight. Jack slightly let his muscles relax but not his guard down.

Terence sat up on the floor and glared angrily at Jack. "Y'ain't got no clue whatcha doin', Ray! Ya should be knockin' _him_ down, not us!" he yelled, gesturing towards the man in the chair, who now rose to his feet, careful not to bang his head on the ceiling, which stood just three inches above him.

For a split second after hearing Terence's words, there was doubt in Jack's eyes, but then he hid it.

"Congratulations," the man in the perfect suit applauded while strolling towards Jack. When he extended his hand, Jack glanced at Terence and Alan before taking it.

"Your name is Ray..."

"Keagan," Jack replied. "Brandon Ray Keagan. But no-one calls me Brandon. It sounds gay."

The man grinned for a second. "I'm Bas Hendrik Kreuk. That's Dutch. My friends call me Henry."

Bas liked to mention his Dutch origins when he met people for the first time; he thought it made him even more special than he already was. He never even tried to pronounce his r's in a more American way, even though he probably could have: he was great at imitating others. In fact, he always has been. He was so good at it that his mother had urged him as a youngster to become an actor or a comedian. Yet Bas had always been more drawn to other matters. Art, for example. Literature. He'd swallowed hundreds of books since childhood. Good writing tended to pull him into that imaginary world and keep him there, rendering him utterly unwilling to part with it. Bad books he knew by touch. Yet if he happened to begin reading one, he stuck to it, suffered with its every page, but finished the book, only so that he could tear it apart later if anyone were to mention it in conversation. The Kreuks never left things undone.

Bas Kreuk's father, Albert Kreuk, emigrated to the United States in the late 1950s, after the War. He had nothing but the money that brought him to New York, a few personal belongings and a dream. That dream became true only months later. Albert Kreuk was working as a shoe-seller when the most beautiful feet he'd ever seen walked into the store. The woman to whom they belonged seemed not to walk but to glide on the fake marble floor of the shoe store. The young lady's name was Catherine, and she was the daughter of the richest man in Florida at the time. Fortuna must have smiled down at Albert that day because Catherine fell for him just like he'd fallen for her. The result of that encounter were Bas and his kid brother, Dirk.

Since they came into the world, both brothers had everything they wanted and more than they needed. Whereas Dirk allowed himself to be drafted by Uncle Sam and stuck to that career path, Bas decided to follow his heart and get a B.A. in Arts before moving on to things more useful in his father's opinion. Eventually, with a combined Masters in Economy and Law and a lifelong passion for Degas and Monet, Bas Kreuk considered himself a pretty well-rounded personality.

Kreuk's handshake was firm, but not too much so. His eyes seemed friendly, but uninterested at the same time. In them, Jack saw a man who was used to scrutinizing looks from others and was an expert at dealing with them. He didn't reply; he simply waited for Kreuk to let go of his hand, which the man did before long.

"Well, Ray, allow me to express my gratitude for saving my life."

"Yeah," Jack uttered dryly, not quite sure how he was supposed to feel about it.

Kreuk watched Jack for a few seconds longer as if expecting him to elaborate, but when Jack didn't, he flashed a small smile, then pulled a cell phone from the inner pocket of his Armani suit jacket.

"Well, gentlemen, time is short. I do believe I must call in the law enforcement now," he stated, pointing his index finger at the two men on the ground, and added, "Like Malcolm Forbes said, _there is never enough time, unless you're serving it_. And you, gentlemen, I trust, are about to discover the trueness of that statement."

Jack shook his head and walked up to Kreuk. "Wait a second," he demanded, staring into his eyes.

"Yes?"

"Before you call the cops, I've got to get away from here," Jack replied, his voice lowered.

"Do you? And wherefore?"

Jack glanced away, then back at Kreuk, only now noticing that Kreuk's ears hadn't bothered to develop any earlobes. "I'm lying low."

Kreuk's high forehead folded into five wavy lines running from one side of the head to the other as his eyebrows rose. "Is that so? Would you mind explaining to me the reasons behind this circumstance?"

Jack stepped even closer to Kreuk and now practically whispered. "I ran into some trouble back in Detroit. I got a DUI charge, probation violation, trial comin' up. I can't go to jail."

Kreuk clicked his tongue while thinking. "You didn't escape custody, did you?"

"Look, I saved your life. This is what I'm asking in return. Just let me get lost before you call in the cavalry," Jack insisted.

Kreuk seemed to consider Jack's words for a few seconds, then nodded, "Very well, then. I shall give you... ten minutes before I make the phonecall."

"Can I have an additional five? I'd like a word with Terence and Alan."

This request seemed to bother Kreuk more, because his large eyes suddenly narrowed and his prominent chin came forward half an inch. "They are colleagues of yours, are they not?"

"Yes."

Kreuk took his time to decide. Jack kept eye contact, unwilling to give up the slightest persuasive element by glancing away. Finally, the large man with the tiny voice replied, "Well, considering the circumstances, I can't very well deny that request. I shall wait outside."

When the door closed behind Kreuk, Jack went to the window and spied through the dirty glass. Kreuk had indeed descended the stairs.

"You dumbass!" Alan mumbled, sitting up.

"We don't have time for that," Jack stated evenly, moving away from the window. "Tell me what's going on, right now. If you aren't the bad guys, this is your chance to prove it."

"It doesn't matter either way. When he comes back, we're dead meat," Alan whined.

"Tell me everything," Jack demanded. "Come on."

Terence rested his forearms against his knees and began his story. "You the guy that find Tom's body in the woods, right?"

"Yeah, with Josh. What of it?"

"Tom ain't no firebug. He ain't start that fire. He been done in."

Jack nodded. "I know that already. What does that have to do with Kreuk?"

Alan answered instead, "Tom wasn't really a lumberjack. He was an analyst, something like that. He worked for Kreuk down in San Francisco at this IT company."

"Get to the point," Jack interrupted, glancing out of the window again. Kreuk was standing at the bottom of the stairs, cell phone in hand.

"Tom was checking finances and purely by chance, he discovered Kreuk's dough was going places it wasn't supposed to be going."

"Drugs?"

Alan shook his head. "Tom didn't know. But then he started digging, and one day, he followed some of Kreuk's people down to the harbor, out of curiosity, you know. They were meeting up with these Latino guys and it sure looked like a drug deal. But a huge one. Truckloads. Plus some Latino chicks that were hushed from the boat to Kreuk's people. Tom even took some snapshots, hid them in a safe-"

"And then tried to blackmail Kreuk?"

Terence nodded. "Yeah, man. He shoulda gone to the Feds, but thing is, Tom been a bettin' man. Gamblin' debts an' all. Thought he'd hit the jackpot. So he yanks the job, come here to hide-"

_Ok, I get it. _"Why did he tell you all this?"

"Insurance."

"Helluva insurance if you get yourselves killed. At least you two should have been smarter and taken this to the cops instead of trying to get revenge. Because if what you're telling me is true, this guy out there is not gonna call the cops, he's gonna do to you what he did to Tom."

Jack glanced outside again and saw Kreuk approaching the stairs. "Dammit," he swore, and before even turning back, asked. "Terence, where did you get the Halo knife?"

"The Army. Legally. Honorably discharged three years back."

Right then, the door opened and Kreuk stepped in. He glanced at all three lumberjacks as if to make sure they represented no danger to him. Then he spoke, his tone conclusive.

"Well, gentlemen, time flies and I do have matters to attend to." Having left the door open, he leisurely walked to the desk and picked up a cigar from it, studying it carefully, then giving it a sniff. "Hmm, not of quality, but it will have to do."

He then turned to Jack. "Mr. Keagan, thank you for your help, but I believe you must be on your way now. The police has just been called. They shall be here before long."

Jack knew when to stall; this wasn't the time. "Yeah. Thanks."

He stuffed both knives into his pockets and headed for the door. He didn't look at anyone in the room, but mumbled under his breath: "Good luck," though it wasn't clear whom he was addressing. He rushed down the stairs, glanced at the Mercedes SUV that hadn't been moved, and finally disappeared in the woods behind the house.

When he was sure he couldn't be seen from inside the house anymore, Jack crouched behind a tree and checked his watch. It was hardly past 7 a.m. but the sun was already burning from the sky, announcing another hot West Coast day. He considered his options: the first one was simply to walk away and never look back. Doing that would likely keep his cover intact, assuming this guy Kreuk didn't decide to dig any deeper and left him alone. The second option didn't sound too inviting and involved Jack getting caught up in a plot of unknown proportions, the one thing he'd hoped to avoid since he went into hiding.

But Jack wasn't the type to walk away.


	3. A Grain of Doubt

**A/N: **Okay, everyone, I hope you've been waiting for Tony and Michelle to make their entrance. Here you go. And if you can't tell I'm a fan of both Krav Maga (yes, I've taken it up, call me nuts!) and of Tony's "perfectly proportioned body", then let that be said right now. :-D

Hope you enjoy this chapter! I certainly enjoyed writing it.

A word of thanks to my friend Dan B. Parts of the last scene of this chapter are based on a true story he shared with me :-)

Please review.

* * *

_**Sacramento**_

Tony Almeida opened his eyes to the soft sunlight outside the bedroom, realizing another morning had come. He still felt tiredness in his muscles and his eyelids were heavy but he knew that once he woke up, he was awake. Especially these days. There was too much on his mind: clients, contracts, support - running a business was proving to be a rather complex task. The long hours he'd left behind after leaving the Counter Terrorist Unit had simply changed geography, and now took place at home instead. Bureaucrats like Chappelle, Hammond or Buchanan were replaced by nagging clients who never seemed to be satisfied and wanted to know everything, even though they couldn't understand half of the things that were involved in developing software or a security system, but had every right to ask because they were paying for it. The long and dreary meetings and briefings at CTU were now presentations for those same clients, the only difference being that the clients' faces looked slightly more interested than the long faces CTU techs and analysts used to make.

Yes, it was hard work. But, as demanding as it was, Tony would never complain about it. In fact, he was thankful for all that, because it gave him a chance to be with Michelle, work with her and keep an eye on her at the same time, making sure she stayed out of harm's way. The latter had been next to impossible at CTU.

He looked down on his bare chest, where Michelle's head lay. Her stunning curls were back at his request, and he loved every single one of them. The straight hair she'd worn after the divorce just wasn't her; it had been an aspect of a hardened Michelle, a Michelle needing to show everyone how her work ethics and dedication hadn't been affected by the chaos and pain in her personal life. But now that they were back together, that masquerade was no longer needed.

But when he thought back, sometimes he couldn't help but wonder... Was she really happier this way? Was he making her happy? Or had she given up everything to make _him _happy?

But he never had the heart to ask if she was really sure of her choice. Not that she'd ever given him reason to doubt; it was just that old devil inside his head that warned him that if things seemed too perfect, they probably weren't going to last. And that - that he feared more than anything. He couldn't take losing her _again_.

The past year hadn't been easy. Prison had left him empty; stripped him of everything, including his dignity. He fell hard. He acted like an ass towards the only person he had ever truly loved - and that was an understatement. He hit the bottle. He was too blind to see how much he was hurting her. He lost himself. Eventually, he lost her.

She was right to leave. He knew that now. He hadn't necessarily seen it that way then but he'd left her no choice.

When they met again, he had nothing. She had everything and just as much to lose. And despite that, when he asked her to, she took him back. She quit her job with CTU and moved to Sacramento to start over with him. He'd told her a million times over how grateful he was. After all the screw-ups he'd managed to accomplish, he felt like he could never thank her enough for giving him another chance, like he could never make it up to her. She'd left it all behind. And yet, for some reason, there were times when he wasn't sure just why she'd done it. Was love really enough? She sure made it appear as easy as that.

Her head shifted a little on his chest. He dug his hand deeper into her hair and closed his eyes.

Sometimes he felt guilty. Other times he wondered if she'd ever regretted it, if she feared, even for a second, that she'd acted too rashly, on the spur of the moment, when she'd said yes to his request, if she'd ever had second thoughts that she, for whatever reason, hadn't shared with him. She had always been a dedicated agent, a soldier as much - or even more - than he had ever been. And sometimes he couldn't help but think that work with CTU was the only thing that could ever fulfill her. So, despite all the small steps towards improvement that they'd made, that little shred of doubt remained and no matter what he did, he couldn't shake it off.

He slid his arm up Michelle's, letting it rest on her shoulder. He relished in the warmth of her body next to him. Her, Michelle, was what made him complete. Without her, he might as well just surrender half of his body to the grave, and indeed that's what he'd felt like after the divorce. But now, in a new house, new relationship, new job, with the same "old" love still going strong, things felt right.

He'd never give them up, not for anything in the world.

He breathed her in and kissed the top of her head, burying his face in her curls. She stirred. Tony stayed put, hoping to avoid waking her, but Michelle soon thereafter opened her eyes, leading them upward to meet his, all the while caressing his chest. She smiled at him and Tony smiled back. She was beautiful. She was beautiful and his. It was a blessing. She placed a soft kiss on his skin. He pulled her even closer, taking her in his arms like a child might cuddle its teddy bear and closed his eyes once more.

--

Jack hadn't been waiting outside the cottage more than ten minutes when he heard the wailing of a horn and saw a police cruiser pull up at the side of the road, close by the cottage. Two uniformed men stepped out of the car and took the stairs, hands on their weapons, which they pulled before entering the cabin. Jack was too far away to be able to tell if their uniforms were fake, so he just sat still and watched. He saw them knock, the door opened and then heard some shouts as Terence and Alan were taken into custody. Not three minutes later, the four men left the premises again, with the tree loggers in the back seat, hands cuffed behind them.

_Is Kreuk really arrogant enough to actually call the cops?_

He decided to find out. He waited until the squad car turned onto the dusty dirt road, and ran through the woods in the same direction. To his luck, the vehicle couldn't go too fast if the driver wanted to still be able to see where he was going, and Jack had learned his way around these woods well enough to know the shortcuts he had to take so as not to lose track of the cruiser. The nearest police station was in Santa Rosa; if they were headed towards Sonoma Highway, Terence and Alan just might be okay.

--

Tony's left hand was buried deep in Michelle's curls while her fingers drew lazy circles around his navel. She was partly wrapped in a soft white sheet, while Tony's body lay free, except for his legs, around which the sheet was tangled. He wore only boxers; he couldn't stand much more fabric at night, especially in California, and especially on a warm night. The morning light was strong now; the sun warmed his skin in the parts that Michelle's sexy body or her purple, silky negligee had left uncovered.

"So what are our plans for today?" Michelle asked.

"Uhm..." Tony cleared his throat, thinking. "Filling out the tax forms, I guess. They're due in a week. And we should look into the offers for the office space. And Sebastián is coming over around ten for some training."

"Didn't you guys have enough yet? You beat each other up last night already," she teased him, grinning from ear to ear.

Sebastián, one of Tony's two brothers, had moved to California with his family not long ago. Ever since, he and Tony had been seeing each other almost daily. Seb, as Tony usually called him, was helping out in Tony's company while trying to build a business of his own. Tony was glad to have family close by again, after sorting out his private life, kicking the booze and learning to accept his time in prison as a fact of life, however unjust.

The ultimate reason behind Seb's move was much less joyful. Their mother, Rosita, the second most important woman in Tony's life, had succumbed to a stroke mere months ago. It had been her second. The funeral took place in Chicago; it was small, just family and close friends. It was the first time Tony had dared return to Chicago after his conviction and the first time the whole family had gotten together in years: Emilio - Tony's other brother - his wife, Heather, and their twin daughters, Sebastián, Tara and their baby son, Tony and Michelle and Enrico, Tony's dad. It was a quiet time, unlike the usual family get-togethers. Rosita had always been the level-headed one, the one who'd always calm everyone down. Without her around, it was like no-one dared start an argument. During the week that Tony and Michelle had spent a week there, Tony had spent many hours trying to talk Enrico into moving to California. But with Enrico's legendary stubbornness, it was no surprise he wouldn't think about it. On some level, Tony could understand it; all Enrico's memories were in Chicago, and he wasn't going to leave them behind. Emilio lived in Chicago, and he would stay, helping Papá as best as he could. But now that Mom was gone and didn't need someone's constant attention, Sebastián decided to give himself a fresh start in Golden State.

Tony put on one of his priceless grins in response to Michelle's question. Tony slightly sat up in bed, pulling Michelle up as well and then laid her down onto the pillow again. "Sweetheart, you can never train too much; especially self-defense. And since I can't officially teach Krav Maga any more, why not with Seb?"

Tony's voice had progressively gained a somewhat bitter note during the last sentence. His conviction made it impossible for him to take up Krav Maga again after prison, let alone function as Instructor. With that taken from him, he felt like a part of his self-esteem had been ripped away. Now with Sebastián around, they could at least keep each other fit.

"Well," Michelle propped herself up on her elbows now, "I see it's not even eight yet. We still have some time before he arrives, right?" she asked with that girly look in her eyes that continued to charm him after all these years.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked innocently, as if he didn't already know what she was getting at.

He could see she fought hard not to break out in laughter because her face was all serious, except for her eyes. "Well, with all that work waiting for us today, I was just thinking of charging my batteries a little first..."

That was his clue. "Uh-huh..."

He laughed and led his arms up Michelle's spine to her shoulder blades. He turned around easily with Michelle in his arms, gently laying her down on her back, positioning himself on top of her, and kissed the top of her nose. She cupped his face, caressing the scar on Tony's left eyebrow, the result of him steering his bike into a fence as a child. While his hand traveled down her side, he asked with a seductive grin on his face, "And that wouldn't possibly include the services of my perfectly-proportioned body, would it?"

"Spot on," Michelle whispered into his mouth, pulling his head closer. Even before she closed her eyes, Tony's mouth had sealed hers, hungrily tasting her lips.

--

Bas Hendrik Kreuk had left the cottage and was sitting in his SUV, with a glass of 25 years old Chivas Regal whiskey in one hand and the cigar he'd borrowed from the cottage in the other, when his cell phone rang. He sat the cigar onto the ashtray in the back of the seat in front of him, and dug out the phone from the inner pocket of his suit.

"Yes?" he said simply into the phone.

"Bas, where are you?" an annoyed female voice spoke on the other end.

He sighed and gave the driver a sign to close the divider between them, which the man instantly did.

"Bas?"

"I'm here, pumpkin, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? Everything's wrong. We didn't finish the conversation last night, remember?"

"Yes, I remember." He breathed into the phone, pretending to sigh heavily. "Listen, pumpkin, I know this is a very important topic and I wouldn't want to have this conversation over the phone. But I can't talk about this right now. I'm working."

"That's the problem, Bas. You're always working! Always."

"I know. I know and I promise you, it will get better, but I need to you be a little patient now. After all, your job isn't any less time-consuming, is it?"

"So now this is _my_ fault? Is that it?"

"No... Listen-"

"No. _You_ listen, Bas! I am _not_ raising the kids on my own. Not while I'm married anyway. It's hard enough working full time in a hospital and taking care of children, but what's even harder is never having you around. Now, I don't want to make you choose. But you should think about just how important your family is to you, and then act accordingly."

He swallowed the drink down. "I'm sorry you're so upset, pumpkin. Can we talk this over tonight?"

"You can bet your precious Armani suits on that!" The line went dead.

He sighed. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned..." Then he put out the cigar and knocked on the divider.

--

Jack's target vehicle had gained speed and he'd lost sight of it for a while. However, the cloud of dust that traveled down the only road leading around the woods served as an excellent guide; Jack had no trouble following it. Yet running across the uneven terrain, he was beginning to notice both his age and his being away from CTU and training. He had to run slower, more carefully than five years ago, and his heavy breathing reminded him of the diminished capacity of his lungs. He made a mental note to quit smoking. No-one was getting any younger these days.

Eventually, somewhat relieved, Jack spied the cruiser parked between the trees and immediately came to a halt. He flattened himself against a tree, hugging it from behind. He allowed himself exactly six seconds time to catch his breath. After that, he glanced towards the car. No-one was looking his way. Jack pushed himself forward, to the next tree. Then the next.

Terence and Alan, still cuffed, had been pulled out of the vehicle, and just as Jack caught a glimpse of them, the two uniformed men were forcing them to kneel down on the ground. Jack cursed inwardly. No time for a plan. Two seconds later, two double taps rang out, and both men's bodies hit the ground.

The killers then checked their victims' neck arteries, and, satisfied, uncuffed the corpses, returned to the squad car and drove away from the scene.

"Dammit," Jack cursed loudly this time, once the vehicle was out of sight. Without hurry, he went to where they lay and crouched beside their bodies, pulling a sleeve over his fingers. Just like the assassins had done, he checked the men's neck arteries - why, he didn't quite know. Two shots to the head rarely left people alive. Seconds later, he uttered, "Sorry, guys."

He sat down into the dirt. His pulse was still racing. His right knee ached a bit; he must have stepped on a root or a rock too hard while running. Sweat stuck to him like liquid soap. He unbuttoned the shirt and wiped the perspiration from his face and forehead with one tail of it. Then he pulled both knees closer, leaned an elbow on them, and the head on the open palm and closed his eyes.

_Who is this guy Kreuk?_

He sat quietly for a while, allowing his heartbeat to normalize. The bodies on the ground looked frightening - or they would have, to someone who'd never seen a corpse. Alan's eyes were still open, his pupils dilated. The two bullets had exited at his forehead. Exit wounds were usually worse than entrance wounds; they tended to blow out parts of the skull. Terence's head lay face first in the ground. Maybe it was better that way. Jack didn't mind _not _seeing yet another deceased face that would without doubt make it into his nightmares. He already couldn't count them anymore.

He had to find out more; about this guy Kreuk, about the whole blackmail deal, about everything his righteous mind didn't allow him to walk away from, especially now that more people had died. Slowly, he dug his cell phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and started to dial a number. After two keys, he stopped, hesitating. He had no resources whatsoever at his disposal. But the number he was about to dial was one he probably wasn't even supposed to remember anymore, let alone call. He stared at the phone._ No, I can't involve Chloe. Too risky for both of us. _He closed the phone again and stuffed it back where it had been. _If this goes any further, I'm on my own. _

He wiped his face with a sleeve and got up from the ground.

"I'll make sure you get a decent burial," he said towards the two corpses. Then he began to walk back.

--

Jack was wolfing down his lunch, sitting alone on a folding chair, away from the others, when he saw the squad car approach. Either someone had decided to follow up on Alan's and Terence's disappearance (but how likely was it that someone would be reported missing after just a couple of hours?) or Kreuk's people were coming back for him..

Ever since the three of them had left work and only Jack had come back, people had been asking questions. Jack was sure that he was the prime suspect in the minds of at least some of his colleagues, but at this point, he couldn't care less. After all, telling a bunch of lumberjacks that Terence and Alan had been murdered by what were supposed to be men of the law was a hard sell. He could have told them the exact location of the bodies but it was highly questionable whether that would have increased his credibility. So he'd replied to their questions nonchalantly and neutrally and then he'd withdrawn.

Of course, he could have called the police himself, anonymously, and given the location, but the assassins he'd seen at work could have been phony cops, or worse yet, real _corrupt _cops. There was no point in taking that risk. At some point, the bodies would be found and things would be cleared up - ballistics, DNA, trace evidence, _something_ would solve the case - with or without his involvement. Besides, he _was_ trying to lie low. So, he sat quietly and waited for the events to take their course.

When the doors of the squad car opened, nervous murmur arose within the circle of tree loggers who were sitting on chairs and logs, with their lunch boxes, thermoses, apples and chocolate bars spread out on the ground. Some of the men threw meaningful looks at each other while others openly glanced at Jack, who hadn't stopped munching his food for a second. Even as the officers approached him, he stuffed the last piece of the sandwich in his mouth and swallowed it down with some coffee. Who knew when he'd next get to eat? They were coming straight at him, not bothering much about the others, like hunters who'd memorized a photograph of their prey. Jack recognized one of them by his gait as one of the assassins from this morning. His first question was thus answered: they _were _coming for him. The second answer didn't need a question: Kreuk wanted him dead.

One of the two officers had his hand on his weapon and unbuttoned the strap that held his pistol securely in the holster. The other one flashed a badge, which, as far as Jack could tell, looked genuine enough.

"Mr. Keagan?" the badge guy began.

Jack only now really rose his eyes towards the men. He was tempted to answer, _who wants to know?_ but instead held his tongue.

The badge disappeared from view again but the question returned. This time, Jack gave a curt "Yeah," in response.

"Mr. Keagan, may we talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure, let's talk," Jack said innocently, smiling and gesturing towards a couple empty logs on the ground. "Have a seat."

"Mr. Keagan, please. This is no time for jokes."

_Sure as hell isn't. It's my ass on the line._ He looked at the interested faces of the others. _Rubberneckers. They'd talk about it for months if I picked a fight with some cops now. _

"Could you follow us, please?"

"What's this about? Am I under arrest?" he asked as he finally stood. _Then again, if he'd wanted me dead, he could have killed me right at the cottage. This might just be getting interesting._

"No, Sir. We just need to ask you a few questions, in private. Please follow us."

_The routine questions routine. Yeah, I'm familiar with that._

He obeyed. They led him to the car and sat him in the back seat without cuffing him. The silent cop sat next to him in the back, while the chatty one drove them onto the dust road.

"Where are we going?" Jack chanced after a few minutes. They'd gotten onto Sonoma Highway. By now, he was sure their mission hadn't simply been to execute him in the woods.

"Santa Rosa. Won't take long." The answer had come from the silent cop whose accent betrayed him as a Southerner. "Someone wanna talk to you," he added, scratching the side of his neck.

_I'm sure I know who_, Jack thought and briefly glanced out of the window. _Real cops or phony cops? He didn't need to flash the badge at -_

The silent cop's arm came down suddenly and quickly. Jack felt a major prick in his thigh and realized he'd been stabbed. He grabbed the cop's hand. It was closed around a syringe; the needle at the end was stuck in Jack's leg. Jack used both his hands to try and pull the needle out of his leg, but the syringe was already empty. Three seconds later, the inside of the car was getting blurry. Ten seconds later, Jack was out.

--

The two sweaty men fighting in the small gym hall whose one wall was lined with one long mirror, couldn't have looked any more similar unless they'd been cloned. It was almost as if Tony was trying to land blows into his own face: there was the same bushy, dark hair, the same maroon eyes, the same nose and the same lips. Sebastián's face looked slightly older and rounder and was clean-shaven, while Tony wore his usual five-o-clock shadow. Both men wore t-shirts and black shorts and were of a similar build, except that Tony was slightly thinner and the muscles on his thighs and calves were visibly better trained.

Tony's gloved left hand came flying towards Sebastián, who blocked the blow well but forgot to step aside, a mistake Tony used to his advantage, sending his right hand forward and into his brother's temple.

"Eleven," he counted, and added, "Cover better!" stepping back to allow Seb to counterattack, which he did, a second later.

Left-right, left-right - four blows, all of which Tony managed to divert before they came too close. Then Tony grabbed Seb's t-shirt at his shoulder, pulled on it, marked a couple of kicks in the groin, forcing Seb to bow down. A hand behind Seb's head, the other hand fixing Seb's arm, Tony stepped sideward and back, using Seb's momentum to take him down. Then he let go and stepped back. The whole thing hadn't taken more than four seconds.

"Guess I'm done, eh?" Seb laughed, sitting up. His voice was half an octave lower than Tony's, and usually came out louder and clearer than his brother's sometimes whispered statements.

"Guess so," Tony smiled, but only for a moment, before holding his arm out for his brother to take and his face adopted an instructor-like expression. "One advice, big brother: avoid patterns," he said, "Ya keep doing the same thing, the bad guy's gonna start expecting it."

"Right," Sebastián nodded, out of breath, and took Tony's hand.

"And you gotta cover better. Arms in front of your head at all times. Ya can't allow me to strike your head that easily. One good blow and you could be out."

"Yeah, I know."

Tony pulled him back up on his feet, then tapped his shoulder. "But that'll come. In general, you're getting better and better."

"Thanks," Seb said, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel that lay on the ground, which he then threw to Tony, who did the same. "I'm just no match for you."

"Hey, at least you're making me sweat," Tony said, pulling on the end of his sweat-soaked black t-shirt, on which faded white letters and a seal read, _Krav Maga Association_. "And like I said, you _are_ getting better."

"Alright. I'll believe you."

"Call it a day?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Sebastián agreed, and Tony wiped his brow again, starting to walk towards the door. Seb took a gulp of water from the almost empty bottle he'd brought, then followed Tony. Swinging his arm backwards, Tony tossed the towel behind him. Seb caught it, but instantly launched it back at Tony, who caught it, too, without having turned.

"Ok, now I'm impressed," the older brother let out, catching up with the younger. He squeezed Tony's shoulder and put his arm around him. What distinguished them most was their posture: Tony's perpetually slumped shoulders were one trait he did not share with his brother, whose back was usually straight and upright.

"Thanks," Tony grinned, but admitted. "I saw it comin' in the mirror."

"Cheat," Seb tapped him on the back of the head like the older brother in charge.

"Hey, isn't the younger sib supposed to try to impress the older one?" Tony's tone was a bit whiny. He took off his t-shirt before leaving the room, revealing his tanned upper body, that had by now lost all traces of alcohol-induced weight gain. Tony was back in play and in perfect shape, and felt better than ever.

"Yeah, yeah. Get out of here," Seb laughed. When he smirked like this, one corner of his mouth would always stay higher than the other, just like Tony's; when they laughed, it was a laugh that regularly proved contagious to those around them.

Tony hopped up the ten stairs that separated the gym from the garage where both his and Michelle's vehicles stood, and was about to open the red door that led into the house when he perceived evil-sounding laughter and mockery from the outside.

"Take this, and this, you drunk ass," a kid's voice chanted, and repeated thuds indicated nothing good.

Without hesitation, Tony made a decision. "Come on," he said towards his brother and was already stepping through the door. He tossed the t-shirt to the ground by the entrance and then directed himself outside.

It was as he'd expected it. A man, maybe forty years old, in worn clothes and sneakers, was lying on the ground, arms drawn to his chest for protection, while some twenty years younger homeboy in a gray sweatshirt with a hood was kicking him. Another instance of Will-Sell-My-Momma-For-Brains was standing six feet back, ­laughing like a hyena.

Seb and Tony emerged from the house.

"Hey!" Tony shouted to get the kids' attention, which worked.

The homey stopped kicking the man on the ground and focused on Tony for a bit. His buddy wisely stood back while the Almeida brothers approached. Tony took care to walk decisively but not appear menacing. He was only ten steps away. The kid wasn't going anywhere now.

"Whatcha want?" the hooded kid shouted back, stepping towards Tony.

"You wanna discuss this with me instead?" Tony offered.

In the meantime, Sebastián, whom no-one was paying attention to, quietly positioned himself behind the other kid.

The homey's chin rose arrogantly and he strode towards Tony with the I'm-gonna-beat-you-up-asshole-movement in his shoulders that swung with every step he took.

His friend took a step forward but a bear hug from behind stopped him. "You're just watching," Seb whispered in his ear.

When the gray-riding-hood was close enough, he lashed out at Tony, but Tony simply caught his fist, and then suddenly pushed him to the ground. The kid easily landed on his rear and that's when the arrogant expression faded from his face.

"See, and now you _wait_ until your opponent gets up again," Tony said like a teacher explaining basic rules of behavior. "So now I'm gonna wait for you, right here, until you get up."

The kid's vocabulary was X-rated from then on, but he never did get up.

Five minutes and several behavioral rules later, Tony nodded to Seb to let the other go. "Get lost now. And if I ever see you causing trouble around here again, I just might do to you what you were going to do to me," he whispered menacingly.

He thought he'd never seen people run as fast as these two kids did.

Tony and Seb would probably laugh about this for years to come but now wasn't the time. They joined the man who'd staggered onto his feet.

"Are you okay?" Seb asked first.

"Yeah," the man nodded, scratching his nose. "I... I was sleeping in my Chevy, uhm... I must have forgot to lock her up..." His words sounded heavy, and his sentences came slowly. "They just pulled me out of the car and the next thing I know I'm on the ground."

The boozy breath coming from his direction rendered unnecessary the question about why he was sleeping in his Chevy in the first place.

"Do you want us to call an ambulance?" Tony offered, "You sure you're ok?"

"I don't have insurance," the man mumbled to himself. The words were hardly audible, even for someone standing three feet closer than Tony and Seb were. "No, I guess I should get home," he then answered aloud.

"Uh-huh." Tony rested his hands on his hips. "Where _is_ home?"

The man seemed to notice how quick Tony was at picking up bull, because he laughed before theatrically exclaiming, his arms swinging towards the sky, "Ho-lly-wood."

Tony shook his head, but not in disapproval, more in sympathy. "Look, buddy, it's a long drive from L.A."

"Tell my ex-wife that." The man's tone was suddenly brusque and saddened at the same time.

Tony sighed heavily but stayed silent. Seb gave him a quick look. Tony caught it.

"Look, buddy," the man echoed Tony's words, "it's okay. I'm gonna get outta here. Thanks for savin' my drunk ass." He offered his hand, which Tony took. Despite everything, the man's handshake was firm.

But when the man turned towards his car, Tony said, "Wait here," and ran back towards the house.

A couple of minutes later, he reappeared and handed something to the man. "Good luck, buddy," he said, patting him on the shoulder, then nodded to his brother to follow him.

"Thanks," the man said in advance, but only when Tony and Seb had almost entered the house again did he look at what he was holding in his hand. There were three items: a handwritten note that read, _'don't drink it'_ and had fifty dollars attached to it with a paper clip, a voucher for an extra value meal at a fast-food restaurant and a business card with the address of an AA center in Sacramento.


	4. Stories

**A/N:** Well, I suppose I'm only writing this for ToothFairy and SlugsBay now... A pity that the rest of you can't seem to be bothered to review. Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

_A warehouse in Santa Rosa, CA_

When Jack woke up, his world was dark. He had no idea how much time had passed. His skull was throbbing. Whatever they'd given him to knock him out hadn't set too well with his head. Before deciding whether to open his eyes, Jack concentrated on his other senses. It was cool where he was. The air was somewhat stale but didn't smell of anything specific like a car freshener. No wind stroked his skin and Jack guessed he was in a closed space. It was quiet. No car or truck engines disturbed the silence, only a commercial airliner flew by. Jack estimated it was already too high up in the sky for an airport to be right around the corner. He listened for footsteps next. He heard none. He tried to make out someone else's breathing. He wasn't sure if he heard anything or if his ears were just buzzing.

Jack took a chance and opened his eyes - squinting at first, then opening them all the way. He was right: he wasn't in the squad car, nor was he outside. Rather, he was in a semi-dark room that looked pretty bare. The windows had been painted black. Despite the single, dirty light bulb that hung from the ceiling, darkness swallowed the corners of the room, making it difficult to tell just exactly where the room ended. Apart from a couple of benches, one of which he'd been placed on, with a wall behind him for support, and a few wooden crates at the opposite wall, there was nothing there. He was alone.

His right shoulder ached. He sat up, angling away from the wall. He realized his arms were behind him, and something was cutting into his wrists. The feeling was highly familiar. _Flex cuffs_, it hit him. He glanced down at his feet, seeing another pair of flex cuffs kept his bare ankles shackled to the two legs of the bench. _Damn it_, he swore inwardly. He hated flex cuffs, on himself anyway. To take them off, it took more than just normal scissors. A pair of pliers, bolt cutters or a good knife were preferable. Getting flex cuffs off one's own wrists was a thing far from easy and usually far from pleasant, mostly involving either heat or friction, or both. He'd done if before, of course, but he never looked forward to the next time.

He tried to rock the bench to see if he could turn it over if need be. He failed; the bench stayed put: its legs were built into the concrete floor of the room. _Damn it. Better save my strength._ He tried to move his feet and back to a fresh, cold spot on the concrete floor, leaned back and sighed. The cool helped wake him up. Maybe it would also help to get rid of the lingering effects of the knock-out drug in his head.

Maybe ten minutes later, he heard four beeps on the other side of the door, in close succession, just like someone was entering a code. Before the door opened, Jack squeezed his eyes shut again, and breathed slowly and steadily, like an unconscious person will. He listened. Two sets of footsteps approached. Shoes with a hard heel clicked on the concrete, while what were probably sneakers shuffled across the floor. Jack figured that the clicking shoes were Kreuk's. The steps had the rhythm of the man in control who didn't need to rush. They stopped some distance away. The sneakers came closer and closer until Jack could almost feel one of them right by his toes. Rough fingers touched his neck artery, feeling it for a couple of seconds, then moved to his eye. The man who pulled Jack's eyelid up looked like a German to Jack: he had blond hair and blue eyes, and an earring, and that's all that Jack saw of him before his eyelid fell again. He'd done his best to keep his pupils as high in his head as he could, and it seemed to have worked, because Blondie said,

"He's alive but he's still out, Sir."

"Waken him," the answer came briskly and Jack recognized the voice from the cottage. "I require some explanations from him ere I decide."

_Don't wake me up just yet, tell me what you're planning first, _Jack thought. At the same moment, he figured that Kreuk was probably too cautious to blab out more, even in front of a supposedly K.O.'d guy. Jack braced himself for a slap. Instead, tepid water came flowing down his head. He took a couple of seconds, before widely opening his eyes, looking around himself as if he'd just been brought back from a coma. Towering over him, Blondie was emptying a large bottle onto Jack's head.

Jack tried to shift his head away from the waterfall. "Okay, okay, I'm awake. I'm awake. Thank you," he grunted in the most irritated voice he could manage.

Blondie emptied the bottle. Then he tossed it to a corner and stepped back.

Jack shook his head and hair, then for the first time laid angry eyes on the other man in the room. "What am I doing here?" he asked Kreuk, unnerved.

"That depends," the Armani aficionado now lowered himself onto one of the other benches in the room, just two yards away from Jack.

Jack tried to blow some of his wet hair away from his eyes and let out an irritated breath when it stubbornly remained stuck to his forehead. "On what?"

Kreuk produced a grin. "On the agreement we arrive at."

"I'm listening."

"Oh, several questions need to be clarified first," Kreuk said, waving Jack off with a hand.

"Yeah, I got a question, too. Why am I tied up?"

"_It is always the best policy to speak the truth - unless, of course, you are an exceptionally good liar_," Kreuk recited, now casually resting his elbows on his knees.

_Jerome K. Jerome_, Jack remembered. It had been one of the favorite quotes of Professor Johnson, back in the very early days of Jack's past as an English literature major. The take-home message from that quote for Jack was likely the opposite of what the professor had intended: over the years, he had _become _an exceptionally good liar.

"There is some truth to that statement, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Keagan?"

"_Any fool can tell the truth, but it requires a man of some sense to know how to lie well_," Jack countered. "Samuel Butler."

Kreuk sat up to applaud, "Bravo, Mr. Keagan. You continue to impress me."

_Hole in one_, Jack thought, but his poker face stayed in place. "Good, well now that you're impressed, why don't we skip to what you're trying to say."

"Gladly." Kreuk paused briefly to put his hands behind his back and take a wide stance, like an officer about to inspect his soldiers. "Mr. Keagan, it appears that there are some inconsistencies in your account of the events."

_Tell me what you know and I'll tell you why you're wrong_, Jack thought to himself. "Inconsistencies? What inconsistencies?"

"All in good time, Mr. Keagan."

_He's wasting time. _

"But first, do allow me to express my gratitude for this morning."

"Do you always thank people by knocking them out?"

A corner of Kreuk's lips acknowledged the statement, but it failed to become a smile. "Where did you acquire your fighting skills?"

Jack preferred staying as vague as possible to questions like these. Vague answers were more difficult to be proved wrong. "I used to do martial arts," he said.

"What kind?"

"Mixed." _Or you could also call it close combat training in Special Ops._

Kreuk sat down again, and touched the fingertips of his left hand to those of his right, nodding in thought. Jack's eyes drilled holes in Kreuk's chest.

"What inconsistencies in my story are you talking about?" Jack pressed on, trying to take control of the conversation again.

Kreuk smiled and played along. His voice adopted the tone of a police detective. "Well, by way of example, you stated that you were in hiding because of a DUI charge, is that correct?"

"Yeah."

"Well, to be perfectly honest, I like to believe that heroes do not lie. I was inclined to accept your little narrative. However, I had some... associates of mine verify that statement. There is no mention of a DUI charge in your criminal record. In fact, you don't even _have _a criminal record... Would you care to explain that?"

"How did you get my record?" Jack asked instead.

Kreuk now stood from the bench. "Connections, Mr. Keagan. Now, _I'm_ listening."

"Well, maybe your inside man screwed you over."

Kreuk smiled benevolently, but only for a fraction of a second. "Don't."

While Jack stared at him wordlessly, feigning confusion, Kreuk glanced at Blondie. Blondie stepped over to a red sports bag that Jack hadn't hitherto noticed. He removed a taser from it.

Jack knew he could withstand torture. But Ray Keagan probably hadn't been there before. So, when Blondie began to approach, Jack drew a nervous breath, tried shifting position and uttered,

"Okay, okay, okay..."

Blondie stopped, glancing at Kreuk for instructions. In the meantime, Jack began to tell another story. "I bought someone in the PD to clear my record. That's why it's clean. He owed me. I added some cash to buy his conscience. It worked out."

Kreuk nodded again and waved a hand at the thug in the room. "Let us assume for a moment that I do believe you, though I will obviously need a name... The question then becomes, if you did bribe a police officer to expunge the charge from your criminal record, then why were you, how did you phrase it, 'lying low' in the first place?"

"Okay." Jack let out a breath that was supposed to sound like he had finally decided to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God. "This whole story, the DUI, the bribe, everything, it's all bogus."

Kreuk looked like a man at the end of his patience. "_Truth_, Mr. Keagan, _is the only safe ground to stand on_."

"_The truth is rarely pure and never simple_," Jack countered, but even as he did, he knew he'd need to give Kreuk more than a good quote this time, even though he was spiraling deeper and deeper into the world of lies. He decided to deliver a story that would be hard to impossible for Kreuk to prove wrong. In his mind, he dug out a case he'd learned about during his last year at CTU. The case had partly made its way to the press, but Jack had inside information on it that the press didn't. He depended on Chloe to update him on any new developments. It was his "out of jail" card for situations like these, his plan B.

Kreuk raised an index finger. "_Liars, when they speak the truth, are not believed_."

"No more lies. I promise." Jack sighed and looked Kreuk straight in the eye. "I _am_ lying low. But because of a crime I haven't been connected to yet."

Kreuk had stood up again and begun to pace the room. He looked like the least interested person on the face of the Earth. "Which is?"

Jack could see Kreuk's patience was nearing the end. It was time to tell "the truth". His head sunk, then only his eyes came back up. He took a deep breath before speaking. "Have you heard about the hold-up six months or so back? Armored truck. A cop got killed. Millions of bucks disappeared?"

Kreuk abruptly turned to Jack. "That was you?" His high-pitched voice had risen even higher. Jack could see he'd triggered Kreuk's interest. "You're kidding."

Kreuk also seemed to fall out of his persona, forgetting his usual pretentious phrasing. Jack liked this development and simply nodded, "Yeah."

"So where's the money?"

Jack lifted his head, looking at Kreuk. "Mexico. I've passed it off." It was a complete bluff, but Jack sold it. For all he knew, it had never been found.

"Mexico," Kreuk echoed. "Then why aren't you there with it?"

"Didn't you hear what I just said? I killed a cop. I can't just cross the border."

"So you're stuck." It wasn't even a question.

"Kind of. For a while."

"You know I could have you arrested right now. I already have you cuffed."

"Yeah, you could. But you won't."

Kreuk suddenly straightened his back and calmness returned to his eyes. "Why would I not?" He was looking for his rhythm again.

"I think we both know why."

The look on Kreuk's face grew even more interested now. "Explain."

"Look, I _watched _your people execute Terence and Alan. And Tom didn't die in the fire, unless fires shoot bullets nowadays. I know you're into hookers and drugs." Jack paused for a second. "I also know where the evidence Tom collected against you is."

"I am already in possession of that evidence, Mr. Keagan." Kreuk's persona was fully back in play now.

"No. You got one _copy_. I know where the original digital files are, both of the photos he'd taken and the evidence he'd collected at your company."

"You lie like a rug, my dear friend. You cannot possibly have that information."

"Fine, then kill me and you'll never know," Jack pokered. The stakes weren't very high. He would have been dead hours ago, if Kreuk had planned to kill him. That syringe could have contained poison instead of a sedative; he'd never seen it coming. Kreuk wanted something. Jack guessed what it was and decided to give it to him.

"Tell you what," he said with a confident look on his face, "Whatever it is you guys do, I'm sure I can be useful. So, you give me a job in your organization, let me lie low for the time being and help me cross over to Mexico at some point. I make sure the evidence against you never sees the light of day. And you can use my skills the way you want to. And I assure you, they are plenty."

"Do you in all honesty believe that -" Kreuk stopped talking when his Armani pocket rang. He dug out the phone without allowing his facial expression to show any reaction to the disturbance.

"Yes." He listened for seven seconds, which seemed to Jack like half an eternity. "Yes. Allow him in. Frisk him. Do not let him out of your sight."

"There is another option," Kreuk then spoke to Jack again. "I could have you tortured for that information, a task which I know my friend here would be delighted to be given. Yet I have my instincts, Mr. Keagan. I am certain that your background is military. Your hand-to-hand combat skills stem from there, even though you seem to be highly reluctant to admitting to it. Hence, you would in all likelihood squander too much of my time, refusing to talk. Therefore, I will refrain from that course of action."

_Good for me._

"Since this morning, I was meaning to offer you a position in my organization. That is why I brought you here. Seeing as you have no problem with it, I accept your offer. But be aware, you will have to _earn _my trust before you can expect me to do anything for you. And to phrase it even more clearly: you lie - you die. " Kreuk dropped the phone back into a pocket. "Are those terms acceptable?"

"Yeah," Jack's answer came without hesitation. _Here's my chance_. "they are."

"Excellent." Kreuk turned on his heels. Leaving the room, he added, "I will come for you."

--

_The Almeida residence  
_

The large, oval table made of ebony wood was covered in papers. Tony was sitting by it, in a chair made of the same wood and in the same style, and surveying the mess in front of him. He hadn't been sitting there long yet, but was already rubbing his forehead in annoyance. If there was one thing he'd always hated doing, it was going through the papers from the past year, sorting them, adding up the numbers... Once all that was done, filling out the actual tax forms wasn't such a big deal, but getting there was tedious. He'd been promising himself that he'd find a fiduciary for these things, but every time he ended up doing it himself again and huffing and puffing while he was doing it. Then, when it was all over, he'd forget about it, until next year. It would probably never happen unless Michelle found one.

The thought brought a small smile upon his face. Just as he yawned, Michelle came out of the kitchen, carrying two mugs.

"Sleepy?" she asked, before setting one mug down in front of him.

"Thanks," Tony said, accepting the coffee, and letting out a sigh. "Not really sleepy, just annoyed, I guess."

"Same thing every year," she nodded, setting her own mug on the table, and sitting down opposite Tony.

"Yeah, except that now with the company, things have become a tad more complicated," he admitted.

He unbuttoned the sleeves of his dark blue shirt and rolled them up, then loosened his collar a little more, revealing a black t-shirt he wore underneath and had tucked into a pair of denims.

"That's true, they have." Michelle paused, taking a sip of her tea. "With our own business to run, it does seem like we're even busier than we have ever been at CTU."

Tony held the mug between both his hands. The heat generated by the fresh black coffee alarmed the nerves in his fingertips, almost burning them. He didn't let go; a little bit of pain kept him sharp. And he wanted to stay sharp right now.

Michelle sipped her tea again. He could tell she was about to ask him what was wrong, but decided to pre-empt her. The look on his face suddenly turned earnest. He sighed, then took Michelle's hand, caressed the back of it with his thumbs, and found her eyes before plucking up the courage.

" 'Chelle... Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she smiled. The corners of her eyes ever so slightly looked upward, following the lead of her mouth.

Tony sighed again as though rethinking his question, but then just asked it point blank. "Are you regretting leaving CTU?"

The smile vanished from Michelle's face. She looked at him as if what he'd just asked was preposterous, but just for a second. Then she was back in control of her emotions. When she replied, her voice was serious but composed.

"No. I'm not. Quitting was the right choice."

His eyebrows rose as he said softly, "You sure?"

Michelle's reply came without the slightest hesitation. "Yes. I'm sure."

A rock the size of Mount Whitney fell from Tony's chest and he lowered his eyes. For a moment, hearing the certainty in her voice, he began to wonder if he should be asking himself this question instead.

With a long breath leaving her mouth, Michelle got up and sat on Tony's lap, sliding her arms around his neck, and pulled him closer into a sensual kiss. "It was a big decision," she whispered, "but I'm glad we made it."

At that, Tony allowed himself to smile and breathe again. _Thank you._

Michelle kissed him again, then moved to stand, but he held her back, not ready to let her go just yet. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

"When was the last time I told you that I loved you?"

"Oh, ages ago," she lied. In fact it had been that morning, while they were making love.

"Well, I do," he affirmed. "I need you to know that. I'm just an old doubting fool sometimes."

"I do know that," she smiled, softly touching the top of his head with her lips. "I love you, too."

She was running a thumb over the scar in Tony's neck, one that would probably never fade away. He caught her hand, still hating to be reminded of what happened on the day that bullet grazed him there. But then Michelle brought Tony's hand to her lips, softly brushing it against them, and whispered, "It's over, honey. It's just us now. Love you."

Tony pulled her close for a moment, leaning into her warm body. Michelle's arms hugged his neck, her fingers were buried in his dark hair. _What would I do without you?_ Tony thought.

Seconds later, he let her stand up, though he still held her hand. Not letting go, Michelle stepped behind him. As she began to massage his shoulders, Tony let go of her and closed his eyes. He sat there quietly for a while, enjoying. "Oh, you can do magic," he moaned, relaxing.

"You're welcome," she whispered back, pushing her thumbs over the stiff muscles on his neck

A little while later, she said, "Honey, why don't we finally get someone to do the tax stuff for us?"

"It's too late now," Tony said lowly, letting out a long breath. "Next year, I promise."

"You say that _every _year," Michelle teased him.

"I know." His voice sounded guilty. "But this time I _promise _to find someone early enough. Alright?" he whispered, opening his eyes again, and covering Michelle's right hand with his, holding it in place on his shoulder, and at the same time, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Michelle stopped massaging him and kissed the top of his head. "I heard that." Then she let go of him and stepped over to her chair.

Tony reached for his mug and took a sip, letting the vapor rise into his nostrils and wake him up inside. Michelle slid into her chair, pulled a few thin cardboard file folders from underneath some papers and placed them on top of the papers.

When Tony returned his mug to the table, he nodded towards Michelle. "How are you doing on the locations?"

"There are a few good ones, a couple of them are even affordable. We should check them out when you're done with the taxes. Maybe Tuesday?"

"If nothing else comes up, we could." He took his mug and moved one chair closer to Michelle. "Show me?"

Michelle let out a sweet laugh. "You're just trying to get out of having to fill out those tax forms, Mr. Almeida."

Tony put on a guilty look. "You got me, Ms. Dessler." Then he added with a boyish smile, "Show me anyway?"

"Alright, Mister. But you'd better not run late with the taxes."

--

Blondie had freed Jack's hands and then set the pliers next to Jack on the bench. When the blood had returned to his hands, Jack picked them up to cut his legs free. The plastic was thick and hard to cut through with the almost blunt pliers and hardly obedient hands, so even after regaining enough strength, finding the right angle seemed like a very complex task. Eventually, he succeeded. Blood rushed into his feet, filing them with needles and heat almost instantly. Jack let out a relieved breath, waiting for his limbs to return to life.

"You guys put these on way too tightly," he complained, guessing that Ray Keagan probably would. "A few more minutes and you could have just as well cut off my hands." He was rubbing his still purple wrists.

Blondie didn't reply verbally, he just shrugged.

"So what are we doing now? You gonna order us a pizza or are more the KFC type?"

"Listen up, fella," Blondie finally uttered, "Boss don't trust you. You wait 'till when he needs you and you don't ask questions. Less you talk, the better. Get my drift?"

"Yeah," Jack nodded. _You're a faithful dog, Blondie. But pawns tend to get killed._

--

HQ - or Headquarters - was the largest room in the hideout. It was furnished with tables of various sizes, the majority of which bore laptops or desktop computers. It had once been used for storage; empty, it could offer a huge enough space to park five overland busses including trailers. You could stack another layer on top of the first if you wanted to. The front wall used to hold a sliding door. Years ago, when Bas Kreuk had bought the building, that door had been torn out and replaced by a new ferroconcrete wall. Bas - an excellent student of his father's - had a good eye for loose ends and weak points - and the single sliding door had definitely been a weak point. The only official way in or out of the hideout now was a single steel door at the back of the building. It was just wide enough to let one person pass at a time, it had no visible lock and no door handle and opened to the inside only if the correct code was keyed in. The code changed every twelve hours. Anyone walking through that door ended up directly in HQ, in plain view of everyone there. For years, the hideout had been quiet. But HQ was buzzing with activity now, and most of Kreuk's people were gathered there. A second way out existed, too, but that exit was only known to Kreuk.

Kreuk himself was now standing behind a man who was wearing a perfectly ironed neon yellow synthetic shirt, the color intensity of which was comparable to a fresh text marker. The man was sitting by a laptop, tapping at the keyboard. At the backrest of the his chair hung a light green velvet jacket, which Kreuk was resting one hand on, watching. When the man snuffled, Kreuk let go of the chair and took a breath.

"Well?"

"I'm working on it, Mr. Kreuk," the man replied, not looking up from the keyboard.

"That I can see... When do you plan on delivering results?"

The man stopped typing for a moment. "Half an hour, if all goes well."

"_If _?"

"I'll get it done in half an hour," the man corrected himself and snuffled.

"Do not disappoint me," Kreuk said dryly and turned away from the man. "Watch him," he instructed a thug in the room, a typical bodyguard, wide as a truck and tall as a bookshelf. The thug nodded, and Kreuk directed himself towards the holding room.

Right then, his cell phone rang again. He stopped, found it and looked at the display. _HOME_, it read in capital letters. He sighed, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "You'll have to wait, D, I told you." He waited in front of the holding room until the phone stopped ringing.

Inside the room, Jack and Blondie still hadn't come any closer to becoming friends (or enemies, for that matter). Blondie was standing at the far end of the room, arms crossed at his chest, annoyed look on his face, watchful eyes pinned on Jack. Jack hadn't moved from the bench; his limbs had slowly returned to their normal state and he couldn't wait to give them some action.

Four beeps announced someone at the door. When it opened, Jack was glad to see Kreuk enter. "How long do you plan on keeping me locked up here?" he asked briskly, even before Kreuk had let the door fall closed behind him.

Kreuk didn't seem to be bothered by Jack's lack of submission. He even seemed amused when Jack took the lead like this. Only his eyes seemed to smile. "As a matter of fact, I plan on assigning you your first task right now, assuming you are still prepared to co-operate."

_Finally. _Jack slid off the bench, a ready-for-anything expression on his face. "We have a deal. I'll keep my end of it. What do you need me to do?"


	5. Tables keep turning

**A/N:** Thanks for your reviews! I'm of course very happy that the story has been found ;). as a special thanks, here's the next chapter. A little early, maybe, but then again, I _am _sitting on more than 100 pages of it already, so why not? ;)

Enjoy!

* * *

Kreuk did not explain, but simply requested that Jack follow him. While he silently led Jack through several hallways, Jack tried to remember them, to create a blueprint of the facility in his mind, should he ever need to escape. They passed by several doors. Finally, Kreuk stopped in front of one. The two uniformed men who had brought Jack in stood there, guarding it. While approaching them, Jack felt the distinct need to knock them out cold. He held himself back; there might still be a chance for that later.

Kreuk nodded, and the cop who'd stabbed Jack in the leg earlier opened the door. The room it led to was almost completely dark. Jack couldn't tell how large it was, though logic suggested that it was about the same size as the one he'd just come from. His eyes slowly began to adapt to the darkness.

"What is this?" he asked, to give them additional time.

"_Morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace_." was Kreuk's answer.

Before Jack managed to process the meaning of this quotation, Kreuk switched on the lights. The sudden brightness blinded Jack for a moment, but he refused to close his eyes. Such a thing could sometimes prove a fatal mistake.

Kreuk proceeded to explain, "I wish to learn where your line lies, Mr. Keagan."

It was then that Jack became aware of quick, terrorized breathing sounds from somewhere on the floor. He looked down. A red-haired kid who couldn't have been more than 25 years old, if that many, was lying there, naked, apart from a pair of white shorts. He had been tied with ropes from the shoulders to the stomach, thin arms secured behind him. A dirty piece of cloth was stuck in his mouth, gagging him. He was sweating.

Even a trained man like Jack couldn't help shivers run down his back at the sight, and as Ray Keagan, he gave Kreuk a shocked look.

"This person attempted to steal from me." Kreuk stated in a voice was as impassive as if he were ordering a drink at a bar. "Murder him."

The kid glared back at Kreuk with eyes open to the point where his eyebrows seemed to have grown directly into his pupils. He was trying to scream but only muffled sounds came out.

"What?" Jack shrieked.

"Asphyxiate him."

Jack stared at the kid. This wouldn't be his first victim. He could easily walk up to a man, strangle him, choke him to death, break his neck, cut his throat. He'd done it in the past. He could torture people by any and all means necessary. He'd done that, too. He could just as easily shoot anyone who stood between him and a mission - without a second thought. He'd done it all. But killing the young man who'd now gone silent with fear had nothing to do with finishing a mission.

--

A sharpened pencil drew numbers on checkered paper. The hand that held it was small and smooth. The fingernails on it were short but painted pink. The girl sitting at the small table was slender, and had long, light brown hair. She wore a pink dress that reached to her knees. She may have been nine years old. Another girl, maybe three years younger, in shorts and a T-shirt, was sitting on the Barbie carpet in the middle of the pale pink-walled playroom, several feet away from a big Barbie house that stood in one corner. The girl looked much like her sister, except that her hair was lighter and shorter. She was playing with Barbie, Ken and a Jack Bauer figurine. Jack was currently holding Ken hostage over Barbie.

One queen size bed was visible in the next room, with the name Laura carved in the wood in pink and gold letters. The bedroom walls were painted a pastel purple, the ceiling pale blue with an occasional white cloud. The section of the mansion which the sisters had to themselves wouldn't grow too small for them even when they grew too old to still live with their parents.

Laura stopped writing for a moment. Jack Bauer had just shot Ken. She sighed, and buzzed the intercom which stood on the table.

"Yes, dear?" a female voice answered.

"Mom. Becca is killing people again," Laura said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not!" Becca protested from the floor. "Jack Bauer killed Ken!"

"Did you hear that?"

"Yes, I did." Danielle Kreuk put the book she was reading aside and rubbed her temple. "We have to keep her away from Theo. He's old enough to watch that show but Becca isn't."

"I try, but when I'm at school, I can't see where she is," Laura apologized.

"I know, Sweetie. It's not your duty." She stood from the couch, sighing. "I'll come right over."

"Okay," Laura said, glancing at Becca, who had taken Jack Bauer into hiding, closing him inside the Barbie house.

"How is your homework going, Laurie?"

"Okay," Laura shrugged. "When is Daddy coming home?"

Danielle swallowed before replying. "Soon, Sweetie. I'll be right there. Mommy loves you both."

--

Jack hadn't moved from the spot. The look on his face hadn't changed. He had worked up his breathing, clenched his fists so hard that they began to sweat, and alternated between staring at Kreuk and the man on the floor, casting an occasional glance at the guard in the room, as well. It was beyond any reasonable doubt that Kreuk was testing him. In fact, Kreuk would have been too naive _not_ to test him. But Jack figured that the actual subject of the investigation was Keagan's supposed military background.

"Go on. I do plan on accomplishing one or two other tasks today," Kreuk sighed.

What Kreuk was asking wasn't impossible; Jack _could _do it. But he saw no reason to. The cover he was trying to keep wasn't that of a cold-blooded killer.

Finally, he uttered, "I can't."

Kreuk clicked his tongue. "Oh, now you disappoint me."

_I couldn't care less_, Jack thought.

This wasn't a mission to save the world from annihilation. It wasn't a mission to stop terrorists in the name of the government. It wasn't about protecting the integrity of the country. This time, the worst that could happen was for Jack to lose his life. And if he was completely honest with himself, he was already dead.

He glanced at the young man again. Though Jack had learned to accept the concept of collateral damage, it had never quite seemed fair. The man was likely doomed either way, but he didn't have to die at Jack's hands.

Jack fixed his eyes on Kreuk's. "I can't kill a man who can't defend himself."

Kreuk shrugged. "Oh, you have honor."

A second later, someone grabbed Jack from behind, taking him in a chokehold. Without hesitation, Jack pulled the man's arm down, allowing himself minimal space to breathe, turning slightly, enough to fix the man's arm tightly against his own chest. Then Jack sent his other arm between the attacker's legs, delivering a shock blow which caused the man's grip to loosen somewhat. Jack spun around, striking his upper arm and elbow into the man's face, breaking the man's nose. Finally, he punched the man's throat full force. The cartilage of the man's larynx cracked underneath Jack's fist. The thug grabbed his throat, gagging, unable to breathe. Then he slumped to the floor, never to get up again.

Kreuk had patiently been watching. When it was over, he noted, amused, "Bravo. You do have a great will to live." He eyed Jack for a while, hand on the weapon at his hip. Then, letting go, he added, "Come along. You can assume Mark's position."

Jack shook his hands to relax them. He figured Mark was the guy he'd just killed. He freed the corpse of the Smith & Wesson and two clips, checked the chamber and the magazines, satisfied that he had three full clips at his disposal, including the one in the weapon. He also found the man's cell phone, flipped it open to see that it worked and was unlocked, then closed it and left the room.

The two phony cops were still outside. "You've seen too many movies," Jack said to them in passing. "Next time, don't flash the badge when you're wearing the uniform. It screams _'fake'_."

He didn't wait for them to reply, but sprinted to catch up with Kreuk, who was already several steps ahead. Before he could, he saw Blondie had stopped his boss and was talking to him. Jack was too far away to make out their words but Blondie's suspicious glances towards him told Jack everything he needed to know. _Trouble_.

Jack picked up the pace. With Jack only a stone's throw away, Blondie lowered his voice even more. "Just give me some time with him. You have nothing to lose."

"Very well," was Kreuk's short reply.

Now, Jack was on top of them, with a questioning expression on his face. "Is there a problem?"

Kreuk gestured at the gun Jack had already stuffed into his pants and held out a hand. "Allow me."

The expression on Jack's face deliberately grew even more puzzled. "I, I don't understand."

"You and I are gonna have a little chat," Blondie replied.

_Figures. Couldn't have gotten out of this one without a little 'chat'. _ Jack tried to appear frustrated at this lack of trust, but eventually, as if realizing he had no other choice, let out a short sigh and reached for the weapon.

"Fine." He slowly handed the Smith and Wesson over to Kreuk.

"Let's go," Blondie commanded, pulling his own weapon and touching its muzzle to Jack's spine.

_That move was completely unnecessary, _Jack mused. _I'm unarmed and on your territory_. He began to walk back through the same hallway they'd just come from. _But I guess as a little pawn in the game you savior the little moments of power when you can get them, huh? _

Blondie followed him just a step behind, his hot breath tickling the back of Jack's neck at regular intervals. The door to the room Jack had woken up in stood wide open. In front of it, Blondie instructed Jack to stop and enter. Jack did.

--

The phone at the Almeida residence rang just as Michelle had begun showing Tony the last of the locations she'd been looking at.

"I'll get it," she barely uttered and was already on her way before Tony could even offer to. Only seconds later, she was already on the phone. Tony listened in to her side of the conversation with one ear, but was still leafing through the last file, already beginning to imagine how they would furnish the office space and make it come alive. And then Michelle was walking towards him.

"All right, I'll just get him," he heard her say and lifted his head from the papers. "It's Jason," she said, handing him the phone. "He says there's something you should look at."

"Thanks." Tony took the phone, stood, and began to walk away from the table. "Yeah, Jason, what is it?"

"Hi, Tony." The voice on the other end was that of a young, bright kid who could easily have made it as Analyst at CTU, and gone up the ranks quickly if he'd wanted to. "Listen, remember _doubleG_?"

The question was, of course, rhetorical. _doubleG_ was the codename for a brilliant new piece of software that they'd all developed together as one of their company's first IT security products for the market. It was specifically aimed at securing financial companies' systems, protecting their data and their clients from intrusion and unauthorized access. Rather than being generalist, it had been adapted to the financial world and developed in cooperation with one of the largest financial companies in the US, thanks to a very influential friend Michelle had in the higher ranks of that financial institute. It also had a few additional gems that normal firewall or virus software applications didn't. It detected intrusions into the system, surveillance attempts, unusual remote access patterns to bank accounts and the like, plus it was capable of pulling other neat tricks to make sure that the money remained where it was - or that it indeed went to where it was legitimately supposed to go. _doubleG_ had just gone into production and the orders hadn't been many yet.

So, when Jason mentioned the name, of course Tony remembered. "Yeah. What about it?"

"Well, you won't believe it. We put it out there what, a month ago? In the last three weeks, we had five orders. Over the past forty-eight hours, we had sixty."

"What?" Tony almost shrieked with shock. This could be very good news, but in his head, a trace of caution formed as well. He glanced at Michelle before asking Jason, "Who's ordering it?"

Jason cleared his throat. "A bunch of companies all over the country. Small businesses, banks, financial institutions, judging by the names. I really haven't looked deeper into it. Figured you'd want to."

Tony walked to the window and peered outside through the white drapes as if expecting an ambush. "Yeah, I do. Send the list over, please."

"On its way."

"Thanks." Tony was about to hang up but felt that Jason was holding his breath. "Anything else?"

Jason must have frowned slightly before he replied. "Just wondering how come you're not ecstatic about this. The ball's rolling, man. Snowball, baby, the game's on!"

Tony heard Jason clap his hands together in excitement and smiled, closing his eyes for a moment and added a brighter note to his voice, "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's great."

Judging by the pause on the other end, Jason wasn't really convinced; but he let it go. "I'll send that list."

Tony nodded. He liked a guy who knew when to back off. "Yeah. Thanks."

"See ya." Jason signed off.

Hanging up, Tony pulled the drapes closed, then walked away from the window. He was still deep in thought when Michelle, leaning her bottom on the round table, asked, "So, what did Jason say?"

Tony folded his arms, then rubbed his chin with the hand holding the telephone.

"What?" Michelle pressed on.

Finally, Tony rested his hands on his hips, and after taking a deep breath, answered. "Uhm... The software. Sixty orders in the last two days."

He could see Michelle was trying to suppress a grin and hide her excitement in the way she gripped the table behind her. Her voice sounded playful when she asked, "And this is _bad_ news because?"

Tony shook his head, letting out a small sigh. "It's not. _If _it's real."

He watched her reaction closely, and now saw recognition in her eyes. He also saw that she didn't like it. The grin on her lips had faded and her eyes had sunk to the floor. Tony stepped up to her, sliding his arms around her waist. "But if it's real, we're in business."

The attempt obviously didn't work. Michelle stood there, holding his waist, but her hands felt absent.

Tony sighed again. _Great work, Almeida. You'd better fix this. _

"Look, I'm sure it's all legitimate," he stated, despite the alarm bells that had gone off in his head. He tried to silence them, knowing he needed to be positive for Michelle. After everything he'd asked of her, the least he owed her was hope.

He kissed the top of her head. "It's gonna be fine. I just want to go over that list, check who's buying it. Jason's sending it over right now."

Michelle looked at him, and then suddenly lost the serious expression. Now she pulled him into an embrace and within a couple of seconds, she flashed a smile again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, uttering the three words that he'd least expected to hear.

The wavy horizontal furrows on Tony's forehead became deep as he looked at her, puzzled. "Sorry? What for?"

"It must be the lack of sleep lately. I mean, you're just being prudent, as we have always been, but I was ready to be angry with you about your lack of optimism."

"Oh Michelle..." he pulled her closer, breathing in the fruity scent of her shampoo. One hand gently slid to her back and the other into her curls. He softly pressed her head against his chest and they remained like that for a while. _You really shouldn't do this to her, Almeida. You've got to make things right again._

When he pulled back, he had an idea. "Look, why don't we leave everything here for a little while and go outside? All that stuff will still be here when we come back... You hungry?"

Her arms slid to his side and then again to his back, while she pondered on the question and finally answered it. "Maybe a little."

"Early dinner?"

"Chinese?"

He raised an eyebrow. "_A little_, huh?"

She slapped his shoulder lightly with her palm but was grinning again. "Give me four minutes."

"Take fourteen," he said through a grin of his own, kissed the back of her hand and let go of her.

"Just you wait, Almeida," she threatened him playfully, pinching the back of his arm.

"Ouch!"

Before he could try and catch her, she scurried off. Tony stood there watching her, the big grin still on his face. She might indeed be able to get ready in four minutes, but only if there was a national emergency at their doorstep. Everything else was an illusion.

Once Michelle was upstairs, Tony sat back down at the laptop and switched to his e-mail. Jason had already sent the list. Tony opened the message, forming a plan in his mind. First he would take a quick look at the complete list, just to see if any of the companies listed rang a bell, and then go through them one by one, check them more thoroughly, until he was sure that all of them were real companies, clean and legitimate buyers.

The file download finished, and Tony opened it, beginning to scroll through the names it contained.

--

Kreuk had returned to HQ and was literally breathing down Yellow Shirt's neck again. Even before arriving at the desk and coming to a stop behind the man, Kreuk uttered, "Well?"

Yellow Shirt first snuffled, then turned in his chair to face the Dutchman. "I need thirty minutes, Mr. Kreuk."

"You are repeating yourself," Kreuk retorted, pulling up the left sleeve of his Armani suit to reveal a golden Rolex. Tapping on the glass, he reminded the programmer that he'd heard the same thing exactly half an hour ago. "What seems to be the problem?"

Another snuffle preceded the answer. "There is no problem, Mr. Kreuk, I will get it done. It'll just take a little longer than I'd hoped."

"I am not very fond of delays," Kreuk stated. His eyes reflected doubt in the words he'd just heard. Yellow Shirt was starting to get a bit restless in his seat. Eventually, Kreuk agreed. "Half an hour then."

--

"Sit," Blondie had ordered Jack when they'd entered the room, and Jack had complied, picking the other bench in the room, the one further away from the wall and had quietly taken a seat, his eyes never leaving the muzzle of the Beretta 90-Two semi-automatic in front of him. Since then, Blondie hadn't spoken. Their two pairs of eyes remained sternly fixed on each other, in a battle of wills Jack knew he would win.

Eventually, Blondie did put out a question. "What's your name?"

Jack grinned. He'd won. "Come on, we've been through that. Ask me something you don't know."

"Name."

"Raymond Brandon Keagan. Want my social security number, too?"

The Beretta suddenly fired a bullet that went right through the wood of the bench Jack was sitting on. Jack hadn't flinched at the shot but in the next moment realized that a guy like Ray probably would have. _Well, too late now_.

"My boss wants answers. The faster you give 'em to me, the better for both of us," Blondie stated, and Jack began to wonder just how much rope Blondie had been given. "But I got time. You don't."

"Look, I don't know what your boss wants to know. I told you what I can."

"And now you'll tell me what you can't. For example, everything there is to know about that holdup you say you were involved in."

Blondie took three steps back, towards the bag that was still on the floor, the Beretta still pointed at Jack. The moment he crouched and looked inside the bag, he'd lost his aim, allowing the weapon to casually wait in his hand, and practically rest on the floor.

_Amateur_, Jack thought before making his move. He more or less flew towards Blondie, and kicked the weapon out of Blondie's hand. The Beretta slid across the floor to a safe distance until a wall stopped it. In the meantime, however, Blondie had found a stun gun and activated it, catching Jack on the arm. Jack managed to pull back quickly, cursing out loud. He sent his leg forward again. With Blondie just at the right height, Jack kicked the lights out of the guy for the time being.

With his opponent sprawled on the floor, Jack used his foot to move the stun gun out of the man's hand and take it into his possession. He checked the man's neck artery, and diagnosed he hadn't killed him. He backed off slowly, until he was close to the opposite wall. Picking up the firearm from the floor, he felt better and sat down on the bench. He rubbed the spot on his arm where Blondie had caught him, waiting for the guy to wake up.

--

"I'm ready," Michelle's voice called from upstairs. Tony glanced at the computer clock. _Seven minutes. Not bad. Not bad at all. _As her footsteps already began to descend on the staircase, he hit CTRL S, then CTRL L and closed the laptop.

He greeted her with a smile. She had put on a sexy black skirt (she knew damn well that he couldn't keep his hands to himself when she wore that), a tight, black t-shirt, a red blouse and heels. She'd put on make up. All that in record time. She looked perfect. The man in him responded accordingly, but he decided to play it cool, as if looking at her didn't do to him what she had without doubt intended.

"Great. Let's go," he said casually, getting up.

Michelle stopped close by, casting a glance at the table. "You looked at the list?"

"Just began to browse through it," he admitted. "Haven't gotten far yet." But then he took her hand like a teenage boy might take his girlfriend's and said, "But right now, for the next couple of hours, all of this stays here."

Michelle seemed to be fine with it. But she glanced at the table and noted, "You're leaving your cell phone here?"

"Yes, I am, Sweetheart, and _so are you_."

He was already sticking two fingers into Michelle's purse, and a second later, he'd pulled it out. "Let's try this, ok?" he asked, holding the phone in front of her.

She was getting fidgety. He could see she was considering protesting. And yes, there were at least a dozen reasons for them to stay reachable, most of them having to do with work, but Tony was determined for them to have some alone-time (even if he had to keep his hands to himself) and the only way they could devote their whole attention to each other on a workday was if they went dark. He was determined to try, and he would convince her of it if he had to.

But he didn't have to, because after a few seconds, Michelle nodded, "Well, I suppose we can always just call back."

"Yeah, we can," he replied, nodding.

Before Michelle could change her mind, he kissed the top of her head, placed her phone onto the table, right next to his, and led her out of the house.

--

It hadn't taken Blondie long to come to his senses after Jack had kicked him into unconsciousness. He no doubt had a bad headache but didn't show it. Having lifted himself up somewhat, he was leaning against the wall. His feet were bare and the sneakers that lay on the ground lacked shoelaces. Jack had used them to secure his prisoner's arms behind his back while the thug was out, since he couldn't find any flex cuffs. Jack was sitting on the bench again, the Beretta right next to him. There was silence in the room until Jack decided to break it.

"The tables have turned," he stated quietly. At the same time, he briefly activated the stun gun to underline his words. "Now tell me what _your _name is."

The thug remained silent.

_Fine_, Jack thought, _as you wish_. He stood, slowly paced towards the wall and stopped. The look on Blondie's face remained impassive. Jack kneeled down. Looking straight in Blondie's eyes, Jack activated the stun gun. Then he pressed it against the sole of the thug's left foot.

He didn't worry about the yell that followed - after all, Blondie was supposed to be questioning him, so some noise was even expected on the outside.

After three seconds or so, Jack deactivated the electric device. "Name."

"Hans. Hans," the reply came instantly this time.

"Hans, good," Jack nodded. "Tell me what your boss is planning."

"I don't know."

"Wrong answer." Jack applied the stun gun to the same foot again and activated it.

Another yell, though this time, the thug had attempted to swallow it at first.

"Software!" he then gasped.

"What software?"

"I dunno. Hold on, hold on!" he added desperately when Jack was about to touch his other foot. "But there's this guy. He's working on it now. He'll know what he's supposed to do."

"Name?"

"Rob."

"Rob what?"

"No idea. Just Rob."

"What's the software for?"

"No idea. Look, I'm just hired muscle, ok? I don't know everything about everything."

Jack eyed him for a while still, the stun gun ready.

"I don't know, I swear!"

Jack's merciless stare softened somewhat, then he nodded. "Okay, Hans. Now, you and I are going to sit here for a little while, and then you are going to walk out of here, go to your boss and tell him I'm telling the truth and that I'm not hiding anything. Then you'll convince him that you need my help on whatever you're doing and let me out of here."

"And why would I do that?"

Jack touched the stun gun to the man's ankle without activating it. Then he led it up the man's leg, slowly, up the calf, the back of the knee, to the inner thigh. Hans reflexively pressed his legs together and glared at Jack, who only then answered, voice as calm as his eyes were cold:

"Because if you don't, your balls hanging from the ceiling will be the last thing you'll see before you die."

--

Eighteen minutes later, Jack glanced at his watch and merely noted, "It's time." Then he grabbed the jacket that lay on the bench next to him and put it on.

Hans was still sitting on the floor, staring at Jack. He had obviously been thinking about his situation and recovered from the fear he'd felt before. His back was straight, the look on his face confident, his breathing regular. As Jack moved to get up from the bench, a smug grin washed over Hans's face.

"You're really something, Keagan, you know that?" This statement made Jack look at Hans, though his eyes showed little true interest in Blondie's words. Blondie continued anyway. "I mean, what makes you think I'm just going to walk up to my employer and have him put you on the team? I mean, I walk out of here, I'm out of your control. This ain't your turf."

Jack gave a grin and a nod, but then wordlessly reached into his pocket. _You're not as tough as you pretend, Blondie, we both know that_, he thought as he dug out Terence's Microtech Halo knife. The knife had switched owners often in the past hours. It went from Terence to Jack, whom it had been taken from by Kreuk's people, but after Jack had tasered Hans unconscious, he'd rediscovered the knife in Hans's jeans. Now Jack activated the switchblade and the shiny metal willingly jumped out as Jack took a step towards Blondie.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second. I'll do what you said," Hans protested in a quivering voice.

Without a word or even taking his eyes off the man on the ground, Jack led the knife to his own head and gritted his teeth before applying the blade to his scalp, above his left eye, somewhere inside his hair. Breathing in deeply, then holding his breath, Jack swiftly pulled the blade across the skin, wincing at the pain it caused him. Blood began to slowly flow down his skull. Jack dipped two fingers in it for a second or two, then led them across his cheekbone and forehead, smudging it there. Then he did it again with more blood, all the while watching Blondie's eyes widen in shock. He was satisfied.

"You're insane, man," Hans almost whispered.

"Then you'll know not to cross me," was Jack's dry reply. He wiped the blood on his shirt. "Get up."

Awkwardly, without being able to use his hands for support, Hans came up on his knees first, then staggered onto his feet, the expression on his face a mixture of uncertainty and fear.

"Turn around."

Hans did.

"Stand still." Jack put the knife's handle in his mouth, and loosened the shoelaces around Hans's wrists, then quickly stepped back, taking the knife into his right hand again. "Put your sneakers back on. Slowly."

Letting out what could only have been a sigh of relief, Hans freed his hands completely, letting the shoelaces fall to the ground, and then turned around slowly, gathering them from the floor. A couple of minutes later, he had complied with Jack's order.

"Get your gun," Jack nodded towards the bench where the Beretta lay.

Hans began to pace over to the bench when Jack added, "Don't be stupid. It's not loaded."

Hans nodded, unable to hide a little frustration at the fact. He stuck the weapon into the holster at his side.

"Let's go," Jack then commanded..

"What do you mean, _let's_? I mean, if I let you come-"

"You were right," Jack interrupted. "I can't trust you. Open the door."

Hans kept his eyes on Jack's determined face for a few more seconds, but then turned to the door without a further word. He sighed, reaching for the door knob. As soon as he made contact with it, Jack grabbed him from behind and took him into a chokehold, slightly touching the skin on Hans's throat with the switchblade.

"Remember. I'll be one step behind you. If I see trouble, you die before I do."

Hans nodded. "I got it."

Satisfied, but not letting his guard down, ­Jack let Hans go and stepped back, moving the knife down and to the back, until its tip slightly touched Blondie's ribcage from behind. The door into the hallway opened and Jack glanced to his left, then to his right.

"Go."

Staying close to the wall, Jack sharpened both his eyes and his ears as they moved to the left, towards HQ.

--

Bas Kreuk noticed the two blond men approaching from the hall. Before he would even move from the spot, he motioned to two of his thugs who were standing behind him. They strode towards Jack and Hans, pulling their weapons from the holsters.

"It's ok, guys, he's alright," Hans called out to the men and towards Kreuk, who only now took a couple of steps forward, while his thugs stopped.

Jack could feel Kreuk's eyes look over the blood on his face. He pushed the Microtech Halo deeper into the sleeve of his jacket. Ready for action, though somehow hoping for none, he tensed, looking around. Bulges underneath jackets or openly worn firearms were everywhere. Jack was more than aware that, if shit hit the fan, he would literally have brought a knife to a gunfight. Avoiding provocation, he kept his head low, but underneath the eyebrows, his eyes remained watchful. Now it was all up to how convincing an actor Blondie was - or to how convincing Jack had been.

Not moving from where he was standing, Kreuk asked, "And by _'he's alright'_ you intend..."

The pragmatic reply came across in a convincing voice: "I think he's telling the truth, and we're one man short."

"I reckon that the pair of you have had a fruitful conversation, then?"

Kreuk had begun to approach. Jack stared at him from behind Blondie, but at the same time tried to avoid tunnel vision, trying to at least hear the thugs that he couldn't see, to pin down their movements, guess their intentions, relying on his sense of hearing. No sounds from behind. For the time being, things seemed under control.

"Well, I don't think he's lying. I pushed him."

Blondie wasn't doing too badly, even though he wasn't an exceptionally good liar. Jack kept quiet. His eyes now rose to meet Kreuk's in the hopes to be able to see inside the man. Kreuk's eyes were unreadable, though. His only response to Blondie's words was a silent nod.

And then Kreuk reached back with one hand. Jack's body tensed even more. The blade of the Microtech slid half an inch further down, into Jack's hand. When Kreuk's arm came up again, he was holding a Smith & Wesson 410S. He slowly began to raise it.

Despite years of experience, Jack couldn't prevent his heart from jumping up to his throat. Maybe the most important thing his training and experience had given him was the power to function at a high level nonetheless, to fight and survive under stress, to keep his wits about him, no matter what his body was doing. But his thoughts kept racing. _Did Blondie give Kreuk a sign with his eyes? Did he use a code word?_ Jack's grip on the knife in his fist tightened, but he told himself to stay calm. _Dogs can smell fear. Don't let them see it. _

Kreuk leveled the weapon, the muzzle pointed towards Jack and Hans. Jack's heart hadn't moved from the bottom of his throat. He continued to reason with himself. _He's bluffing. He won't shoot as long as Blondie is here_.

Yet Jack also knew better than anyone that this wasn't an impossible shot, especially from such a short distance. He himself would be able to hit his target in this situation. Maybe Kreuk could, too.

"Are you indeed being sincere with us, Mr. Keagan?" Kreuk spoke in a voice as squeaky as it was uncanny.

At this, Kreuk's men took a few steps back, each of them sliding at least one hand to their side, closer to the bulge in their jackets or the firearm in their belt holster. _One behind. Two to the right. _Jack noted the movements, but they weren't his most immediate problem. _Focus straight ahead. _

Jack could only see the side of Kreuk's round face from behind the weapon, not nearly enough to even try to guess the man's next move, but he moved no muscle except to utter, "Yes."

"And you need him?" The question was addressed to Blondie, but it served to reassure Jack somewhat. _He's not going to shoot_, he concluded. The pounding in Jack's throat began to become less violent.

Blondie controlled his voice. "We're short a man. He killed Mark."

_Those might not have been the best words to convince him not to fire, _it shot through Jack's head.

Kreuk nodded. His large eyes narrowed and his face grimaced into an awkward grin, the point of which was lost on Jack. Firearm still in position, he took one slow step forward, then another, hard heels clicking on the concrete floor. His eyes never left Jack's for a split second while he approached to an arm's length.

The hair on Jack's back stood when the muzzle of the Smith & Wesson touched his forehead.


	6. A born killer

**A/N: **Here we go, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

The cold metal to Jack's forehead warmed up quickly. The sulphuric odor that clung to the weapon rose to his nostrils. He tried to focus his stare on Kreuk's index finger, which gently caressed the trigger without squeezing it.

_Shoot me or back off, dammit_, Jack thought. He could have long ago taken control of the situation. But it wasn't the part he was playing. He couldn't stay unemotional on the outside. If he was going to convince Kreuk that he had no military background, what better time than now? So, despite his nature, he insisted, "Please, Mr. Kreuk. I am telling you the truth."

Kreuk must have smiled because soft lines formed at the side of the eye Jack which was able to see. "Are you?"

"Yes!" Jack shifted his weight to his other foot and gave his face a helpless look. "What do I have to do to convince you?"

Blondie was standing so close to Jack that Jack could feel restlessness in the man's body. Blondie's fingers curled into fists, then relaxed, then fists formed again. Jack had to do something. He angled the blade of the Microtech away from himself so that it touched the inside of his sleeve, and then he led the sleeve to Blondie's lower back, taking care to keep the movement slight and slow and the weapon concealed from anyone behind them. _Don't you dare_, he thought while pushing the knife against Blondie's spine. It worked; Blondie's fidgeting stopped.

Kreuk was taking his time. Standing this close, Jack couldn't tell how the trigger finger was behaving. Then Kreuk stepped to the side, leaving the weapon in place. It seemed like he wanted to see Jack's face before making his final decision. Just from that glance, Jack understood that this was a man who had killed before.

_Oh, shoot me already and get it over with_.

Suddenly, Kreuk threw his armed hand back, but grabbed Jack with the other, pulled him towards himself at his shoulder and finally kneed him in the stomach. Caught by surprise, Jack almost let the knife drop to the floor as he doubled over, growling, coughing to catch his breath again. He swore inwardly.

"Greetings from Mark," Kreuk grinned and took a step back. While laying the Smith & Wesson down onto a desk half a step away, he added, "Congratulations, She is yours."

Jack closed his hand around the knife before forcing himself to find his focus again and stand. Deciding it was safer not to comment, he simply tucked the weapon into his waistband. He was able to breathe again, and sometimes, it was the most you could expect of a situation. But he was still bleeding. He needed to fix himself.

"Got a medical kit?"

Kreuk laughed and nodded to the left. "Adjacent room. Hans can assist you."

"I can handle it," Jack grunted. "Keep that jerk away from me."

He brushed the side of his neck with his palm, wiping some of the still flowing blood away, and began to stride in the direction he'd been pointed in. The shortest route to the adjacent room led through three of Kreuk's men, and Jack pushed them aside when they wouldn't move, leaving blood smears on their shirts. Ten seconds later, he banged the door closed behind himself.

--

Woo's Asia Heaven had filled up with people by now. A middle-aged couple had brought in a Chihuahua named Furry, whose main entertainment was running between tables and drooling while he begged for food. Tony had never liked toy dogs. He ignored Furry's whining until the midget dog suddenly sneezed all over his shoes.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," he sighed, looking down at the drool on his shoes, while Michelle began to giggle with a hand covering her mouth - a sure sign that one of her laughing fits was under way. He lifted his eyes towards her, "What? You think this is funny?"

She shook her head 'no', but her giggling only got louder.

Tony tried to remain serious on the outside, but the truth was, he was starting to crack up, too. Before he did, the female half of the owner couple came to the table, reaching for Furry, who obediently let himself be picked up. "I'm sorry," she said, while stuffing the dog into a handbag, "It's Furry's first time in a restaurant, I didn't know how he'd behave."

"Obviously, he behaves like any dog will if you let him run around from one food source to another," Tony remarked.

"You're right."

Furry attempted to jump out of the bag onto Tony's plate. The woman held him back and stepped away before he could drool into Tony's food. "Sorry about your shoes," she added.

"A little dog drool just makes them look fancier..."

The woman's head sank, and she returned to her table, refraining from further comments.

Tony wetted a napkin with some water and cleaned off the most visible drool. Michelle was still grinning from ear to ear but she had stopped laughing. The waiter appeared out of nowhere and took the napkin from Tony. Tony thanked him. When the waiter was gone, Tony commented towards Michelle, "Who the hell calls a Chihuahua _Furry _anyway?"

She burst into laughter again.

--

Jack glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed since he'd gone into the kitchen. He was sitting on a chair, and still pressing a cloth down on his head wound. Now he inspected it for the twentieth time: the ice he had wrapped in it had melted. The size of the red stain had finally remained stable for the last five minutes. _About damn time._ The cut would sting for days to come, but now he could at least get back out there and see what exactly he'd gotten himself into. He walked to the sink, tossed the ruined cloth into the trash and washed his face. A mirror hung at the side of a dirty, white cupboard and Jack glanced at it. The long crack in the glass divided his face into two halves, an upper and a lower part, somewhere around the middle of his nose, making the bone look crooked. It must have started to rain, because water kept dripping onto the mirror from a leak in the ceiling, altering the reflection every time a new droplet hit. The blood on his face was now gone, but a dried smear was still on his neck, which he cleaned off with wet paper. His eyes caught his attention. He stood, captivated. It might just have been the light, but somehow, his eyes hit him as darker than usual, deeper, angrier.

Eyes are the mirror of the soul, people say. Jack didn't really buy into that, except... in their final moments, petty criminals and assassins, thugs and masterminds, agents and politicians, they all drop the bullshit and the eyes suddenly become so honest. One final emotion frozen in time and on the faces of the dying. Fear. Belief. Arrogance, even in defeat.

He kept staring, but didn't see himself. Images kept changing abruptly before him, jumping from one to the next like a badly cut movie. He still wasn't sure why he should want to look into the eyes of one of his victims as they breathed the life out of their bodies. But he almost found it compelling. And every time he did, it changed him a little more; he took something from every experience. And the most vicious of terrorists always had one thing in common: determination. Even in their dying moments.

Now, as his own face looked back at him from the dirty, wet mirror, the same determination was there. He couldn't tell where that came from nowadays. He was beyond working to save the country. Heck, he wasn't even working to save himself... Well, come to think of it, maybe he _was _working to save himself. Otherwise he wouldn't have resisted Blondie and Kreuk. Kreuk was probably right; a will to live must have been buried somewhere deep inside Jack. And an insatiable curiosity, a deeply instilled feeling of right and wrong. How ever much he'd bent it, broken it, ignored it ... it remained. The Curse of Jack Bauer. He just couldn't walk away.

Another fat droplet of water hit the mirror, and Jack's eyes focused again at his reflection, this time moving beyond the ghosts of his past, seeing himself in the here and now. Determination. Darkness. And the eyes of an assassin.

"They said you're a born killer. Is that true?" someone had asked him a long time ago. He'd never answered. But sometimes he wondered what would have become of him if he hadn't joined the Army, if he hadn't channeled this instinct into lawful paths... Yes, he was a killer. As much as he hated it, as much as he wanted to rip it out of himself, it came naturally. But had it always been like that? He longed for the time when he responded to such questions with quick, confident answers.

Another droplet hit, and Jack allowed it to pull him out of his musings. Other things were more important. _Who is Kreuk really? What does he want?_

He stared at himself as if his reflection would answer the questions in his mind.

But it didn't.

--

The chicken Szechwan style was exceptionally good. It was so easy to just sit and forget the time in the cozy little place (Furry and his owners had left the restaurant in a hurry). Michelle fed Tony a piece of chicken, handling the chopsticks expertly. Now here was one thing that she was definitely better at than him. Tony had long ago decided that those chopsticks simply fitted better in Michelle's hand. Her tempo of eating the food using those things was approaching that of an actual Asian. Tony, on the other hand, could just about manage to make them do what he wanted - eventually - but most of the time, he'd quit trying before letting the food go cold, and resort to knife and fork. Making a fool of himself wasn't his favorite ingredient on the menu. But tonight, Michelle seemed to have made it her mission to finally get him to use those things throughout the meal. Not even the dog incident had earned him a rain check, so he dug into the igloo of rice on his plate once again, broke a bit of it off, mixed it with meat and brought the food to his mouth.

--

Eventually, Jack sighed and gulped down some water. The cool liquid hit his empty stomach, making him realize how hungry he was. A sandwich only kept you satiated for so long. And he'd eaten his last one hours ago. Normally, he would now be on his way home, towards a TV dinner for one, a beer and the evening news. And some sleep, if his mind let him. It wasn't much of a home, but it was an existence. Then again, it was too damn hard to feel at home without Kim and Teri...

He had no landline installed - what for? No-one outside of him, Tony, Michelle and Chloe even knew he existed. And as for the lumberjacks, they called his cell phone. Chloe was the only one who knew where Jack Bauer lived, and they'd keep it that way. He owned a second cell phone, too, the clean phone that Tony and Michelle had provided for him. He only spoke to Chloe on that phone. It was untraceable for ninety seconds - he always hung up at eighty-five. Eighty-five seconds had seemed awfully short in the beginning. Rushed phone calls and a stressed Chloe had been the initial result, since she tried to pack too much information into too many words per call. But with time, they'd found their rhythm. And now Jack knew everything he needed to know. Tony and Michelle had left CTU. Audrey was taking his death hard, although not as hard as Kim. CTU had closed Jack's case, and the Chinese had stopped asking questions. Even Washington had backed off. And he knew everything about Kim. She was depressed, in therapy, and Chase was about to leave her. Though he'd promised himself he'd punch the lights out of Chase if he ever met him again, he knew: this wasn't Chase's fault. It was his own. He would talk to Chloe and watch himself ruin Kim's life _in absentia_.

"What kind of a father does this to his daughter?" He would ask himself and Chloe repeatedly.

The answer was painfully simple: "The kind that has no other choice if he is to protect her."

But it never made him feel better.

Footsteps outside the door yanked him out of his thoughts again, and he forcefully pushed everything but the present to the back of his mind. One last look in the cracked mirror. The checkered shirt he wore was soaked with blood at the collar. He ripped it off himself and tossed it to the ground. The gray t-shirt he wore didn't look too bad; he kept it. His arms were in a good shape for a 40-something. He could still do sixty push-ups per minute and he did that for a few minutes every morning. His skin alone had visibly aged since the Army days.

The inside of his left forearm bore the Virgen de Guadalupe tattoo which he'd had done while undercover in Mexico. He'd grown so used to it that he mostly wasn't even aware of it. But sometimes, at night, the ghosts of his victims came back to haunt him, and he sat in bed with the lights on and a drink in his lap. That's when his mind would roam the various places in his past. So many undercover jobs. So many twisted characters over the years. So many deaths... The Las Nieves mission had left the deepest scars, and the most obvious marks. Like the tattoo. And the remorse. And a body that had gotten to know a simpler way of dealing with pain than confronting it.

It was so easy. All it took was a needle and some courage, the first time around. The second time, it was even easier. The third time, a piece of cake. The devil was on his shoulder, but Jack seemed in control. Until he started craving heroin on the job, after the mission was long over with... He did kick the habit, eventually, and send that devil to hibernation. But the brain works in mysterious ways. The intricate meshwork of cells sucks up not only names, faces and events like a sponge, but also sensations. And sometimes the simplest things are powerful enough to rehydrate those withered memories. Jack Bauer feared them. He feared the devil awakening again. He had no intention of ever again injecting anything in himself, other than the flu shot or something, but to this day, he'd avoided being anywhere near a crackhouse. Better safe than sorry.

He grabbed his jacket and was about to leave the room when he halted. _Blood. DNA. Forensics. Don't get caught in a lie. _If Kreuk really did have contacts in the PD, it was better not to leave potential evidence right under their noses.

He ransacked a couple of cabinets until he found a paper bag. He stuffed all the bloody items into the bag, pressed all air out of it, making it as small as possible and tucked it into his jeans. Then he disguised the bulge in his back by putting on the jacket. He opened the window. The rain had stopped but its scent still hung in the air. The air was much cooler than an hour ago, and the nature seemed lulled into a kind of sleep; everything was quiet. Jack hopped onto the windowsill, and then to the wet ground.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned the same way he'd left, closed the window behind him and went to the door. The Smith & Wesson ready in his grip, should trouble arise, he carefully put his hand around the door knob, slowly turning it. He counted to ten. When nothing happened, he pushed the door open and slid into the room.

He hadn't taken three steps into HQ when Blondie spotted him and waved him over. Jack nodded and complied, carefully glancing around the place while he made his way between desks, chairs and thugs. He spotted Kreuk leaning over some guy in a neon yellow shirt, who in turn was bent over the keyboard in front of him. Knowing better than to stare, Jack turned his eyes to Blondie, whom he joined in that exact second.

"What?"

Hans tapped Jack on the shoulder, like an old friend would. "Hey, Ray, hope ya understand, I had to make sure you're for real," he said through a grin.

Jack wasn't sure if the guy was screwing with him or was simply dumb. He allowed the faintest trace of smile onto his lips, merely for the benefit of the four fat thugs behind Blondie, who were munching sandwiches. "Yeah, I know," he said.

Blondie's hand squeezed Jack's shoulder. "No hard feelings, 'right?"

"None," Jack lied.

"Why don't you eat something," Hans continued, gesturing to the table around which the others were standing. "It's gonna be a long day."

Jack barely glanced towards the food. His howling stomach would have to wait another minute. "What are we doing?"

Blondie's smile widened. "Boss will let you know when the time comes."

Jack accepted this but then nodded towards Kreuk. "Who's Boss talkin' to?"

Hans took a sip of the coffee from his plastic cup. Over the rim of the cup, he mouthed, "Rob."

The one-worded reply told Jack all he needed to know.

He'd found his target.

--

Jack had followed a heated conversation between Kreuk and Rob, and then watched Kreuk leave HQ. Two of the men who had been eating immediately followed Kreuk; Jack concluded they were Kreuk's personal protection. Blondie excused himself to go to the bathroom and Jack was suddenly left with only one other man close by who was now sitting on a chair reading some tabloid, seemingly uninterested in the events around him. The rest of the men also minded their own business.

_Now or never_. Jack finished his coffee and casually approached the neon yellow computer guy, trying to keep his eyes off the buttoned-up synthetic shirt, whose brightness was already beginning to hurt his eyes.

"Hey," he said simply.

Rob probably realized that he'd never heard this voice before because he lifted his eyes from the keyboard and turned around. He appeared quite aged, but he couldn't have been more than a few years older than Jack, if at all. Deep lines on his face stood witness to whatever troubles he'd gone through in his life, his eyes seemed hollow and empty. He scratched his thick, brown beard, staring back at Jack for a second. Then he snuffled. "Who are you?"

"Ray Keagan. You?"

"Name's Rob."

"Rob What?"

"Just Rob. What you want?"

"Whatcha doing?" Jack asked directly.

Rob snuffled, and as he did, put on a frown. "None of your business. Take a walk."

_Not a chance_. "I've noticed you didn't quite seem to be making the boss happy. Maybe I can help."

A grin washed over Rob's face for just a moment, followed by a snuffle, but not by a reply. Then he returned to work.

Jack remained quiet for a moment but didn't leave. He watched Rob scroll through lines of code on the monitor in front of him, alter a line or two, then scroll further down. Jack rested a hand on the back of the chair before asking, "You're a programmer?"

Rob suddenly turned in the chair and stood. He straightened his back fully. The top of Jack's head only reached to Rob's chin, but if Rob had hoped to intimidate Jack, he'd failed. He snuffled in frustration and glanced around the room. The tabloid-reading man was still doing just that, and the people working on computers were uninterested. Rob crossed his arms at his chest.

"Lemme ask ya, Ray. Someone payin' you to be a pain in my ass? Why don't you go find something to hump and get off my back."

"Hey, no need for that language. Just tryin' to help," Jack said calmly.

Rob leaned in towards Jack. "If I need your help, _ape_, I'll let you know."

Jack's fists itched so badly that he had to stick them into his pockets to keep them from flying into Rob's face. He smiled tentatively, and relented.

"Good luck", he mumbled simply and left Yellow Shirt alone.

--

"Alright, to sum up then," Tony fed Michelle the last piece of meat and then licked off the chopsticks that had just left her mouth. "Your personal favorite is the big sunny office space up in Fair Oaks, with the view of the river."

"Mh-hm," Michelle confirmed, chewing on the food, then swallowing it down. "I have this vision of what our company space should look like and this is just perfect for it."

It took her nearly six minutes to describe to him just exactly how she was picturing their office. Tony held her hand (when she wasn't gesticulating to underline the shapes and sizes of furniture that she was talking about) and smirked to himself. When her recount was over, he brought her hands to his lips, planting a soft kiss on them. "I do love it when you get all excited about something."

"This isn't just 'something', Mister. It's our future," she reminded him.

He nodded. "Tell you what," He glanced at the ground for a moment, "why don't we go check that space out first thing in the morning, what do you say?"

"Deal."

"Great." He kissed her hands again.

--

"Keagan." It was Kreuk's unmanly voice calling out to Jack from the other side of HQ. "I have an assignment for you."

"I'm here," Jack let out in that ready-for-action tone he had used when going into the field with CTU.

Kreuk motioned to the corridor behind him and that's when Jack saw it. What was lying on the floor could have been a bundle of white sheets if it hadn't been for a huge blood stain halfway down tits length and a few strands of red hair sticking out from the top end of it. He also saw a smaller red stain a little way below the hair and his mind instantly painted a picture of how the por kid must have died. Yet another picture he'd rather not have seen. He felt his stomach protest and turned away from the corpse, leaning on the wall for support. As a CTU agent, he wouldn't have allowed himself to openly show this strong a reaction; but now, it didn't matter. _Animal. Goddamned animal._ He swallowed a few times, forcing the food he'd just eaten to stay in.

Kreuk seemed unmoved. He waited until Jack finally faced him again before stating in a neutral voice, "He might have perished less painfully if you had executed my order earlier. Since you refused to, your assignment now is simple: dispose of the corpse."

"You-"

Kreuk raised a hand. "No use crying over spilt milk, my friend. Dispose of the body. The sooner, the better."

Blondie came around the corner.

"Assist him," Kreuk ordered simply. "I doubt he will manage on his own."

"Yes, Mr. Kreuk."

Kreuk turned on his heels and - after casting a scrutinizing glance at Rob, whose position at the computer hadn't changed - headed to his office.

--

As Jack and Hans began to march back from the woods, the sky had turned gray and the light was beginning to fade. They had dropped the kid's body - including the sheets he'd been wrapped in - into the ground, avoiding looking at the corpse. They buried it quickly. Jack tried not to think about what had been done to the kid. He walked behind Hans, following his lead. They soon came up to a tool shed not far from the house. Hans entered first and set his shovel against one of the walls. Jack entered closely behind Hans. When Blondie's hands were free, Jack suddenly pushed the man backwards against the wall, pinning him there, and pressed the wooden handle of his own shovel against Blondie's upper chest. Hans hadn't even had time to curse.

"Why didn't you come for me in the house?" Jack whispered.

"What?"

"I was alone in the kitchen. You had all the time in the world to gather your friends and turn off my lights. Why didn't you?"

"We had a deal..."

"Try harder." To underline his words, Jack leaned into the shovel.

Hans grabbed the wood, trying to push it away from his throat. "You and Kreuk are both nuts! If I try to cross either one of you, you guys are gonna kill me, that's why! He did to that kid what you threatened to do to me, and I don't think you were bluffing either!"

There it was, that look of fear in a victim's eyes again. Jack didn't let it distract him. "So you pissed in your pants, is that it?"

"Yeah!"

"Did you tell anyone about me?"

"No!"

Jack pressed down harder, this time against Blondie's throat. "Did you?"

"NO!"

_You play on two fronts, one of them _IS _gonna kill you_. He relaxed the pressure, but stayed put. "What's this guy Rob supposed to do for Kreuk?"

"What?"

"Don't make me ask you again."

"Rob? Alter some software."

"What for?"

"They're gonna use it in some financial scheme. That's all I know, I swear!"

"I swear!" Blondie croaked when Jack pressed down harder once again, this time almost squeezing his Adam's apple.

Honesty. It took over in Blondie's eyes, screaming, _'I don't want to die!'_ Jack decided to move. He lifted the shovel off Blondie's throat with his left hand, at the same time pulling the guy away from the wall with his right. Jack pushed him towards the ground, causing him to stumble, and finally hit Hans across the head with the shovel, finishing the job.

"I believe you," he whispered to the motionless body on the ground.

Jack crouched to feel Blondie's neck. The pulse was there, and that suited Jack well. He might need to use the guy later. He tossed the shovel into a corner, then looked around the shed. Wire and wire cutters, duct tape and ropes were all available. That was good. He secured his prisoner, then took a few minutes to look around the place. In addition to the firearm and the Halo he already carried, he also armed himself with another knife, which he duct-taped to his calf. He found six 10x5 inch wooden boxes, all of which contained blocks of military-grade C4. Rather than questioning where it came from, he simply hoped some of it might come in handy. Satisfied with the results of his search, he locked Hans in, and returned to the hideout.

--

"You are unable to fix the problem, are you not?" Kreuk's voice was loud and angry and the first thing that Jack heard as he walked back inside HQ. Everyone was gathered in one place, facing the inside of the room. No-one even acknowledged Jack's return. Had he been with a kill squad, he could have taken them all down. It was just as well. They were less likely to realize he'd returned alone.

"Can you or can you not do what I expect of you?" Kreuk's voice got even louder and Jack stood to the side of the others, now able to see who Kreuk was talking to. It was Yellow Shirt Rob. One of Kreuk's personal thugs was holding Rob's arms from behind, while the other stood ready to slam his meaty fist into whichever part of Rob's body happened to be the closest.

"I... I don't think so, Mr. Kreuk."

Kreuk's eyes narrowed and glanced at the waiting thug, who immediately threw a punch. Rob coughed but refused to whine.

"I do not need to remind you how much this failure of yours will cost me, do I?" Kreuk stepped away from Rob. He was in control of his voice, but his face had turned red. "And I am not merely talking about direct loss of finances. Investing thousands of dollars into dozens of copies of software that I won't need is one thing, but you promised me a revenue many times larger than my investment - let alone the ability to _infiltrate _financial institutes across the country and beyond."

Another blow landed in Rob's face and he swallowed blood down, rather than spitting it on the floor. A drop of blood from his nose fell onto the yellow shirt.

"I do not accept losses, Mr. Wilson. I do not appreciate failure. Nor do I I take lightly to losing the possibility of potentially earning billions in the short-term. "

"I'm sorry," Wilson muttered lowly. Kreuk ignored the apology.

"I am also concerned about my credibility," Kreuk then continued, "More people than I can possibly conceal the failure from are already involved in this, or expecting a payment. I have never failed before, Mr. Wilson. That is not my style."

Kreuk unbuttoned his Armani suit jacket, revealing a holstered firearm at his side. He reached inside the jacket just when Rob croaked, "There might be a way to fix it, Mr. Kreuk."

Kreuk rested his hand on the firearm but didn't pull it out of the holster. He waited.

Rob breathed in heavily. "The guy who programmed the software. Tony Almeida."

At the mention of Tony's name, Jack felt his heart skip a beat. _What? _

Yellow Shirt continued in a slightly shaky voice. "It's his software. If it can be done, he can do it."

Kreuk grinned at the suggestion. "The very man I've spent a large sum of money to _covertly implicate _in this? What makes you think that you will be able to talk him into doing anything for you? The pair of you aren't exactly friends, now, are you."

"I hate the Spic bastard. He cost me my career. But I have some very convincing arguments. If you bring him in, I _will _make him fix this."

"How?" Kreuk asked. "I am not wasting any further resources on this unless there is a genuine chance of success."

Rob found Kreuk's stare. "He has a wife. He'll do anything for her."

_No!_ Jack clenched his fists as hard as he could, physically restraining himself from launching at the yellow shirt asshole and beating the crap out of the him, even if it cost him his life. _No, they've been through enough!_

But Kreuk seemed interested. "And he will be apt enough to accomplish what you failed at?"

"Yes."

Kreuk had no reason to dismiss Rob's suggestion. It was money out of his pocket. Or into it. "Very well, then."

He turned to the onlookers in the room. "Eric, find out where Almeida lives. Matt, you're going with him. Call Trevor. Take the helicopter."

A couple of nods and it was all over. Yellow Shirt was dragged into the room where Jack had first woken up this afternoon. Eric found out Tony's address in Sacramento and passed it on. Matt placed the call to the chopper pilot and announced, "Trevor will be here in five minutes."

"Excellent."

Jack wanted to request to be on the team that was going out to pick up Tony and Michelle, but guessed that he would be denied permission. He couldn't tell Kreuk that he knew how to fly a helicopter, because Ray Keagan was unlikely to. Nothing else he could say would make Kreuk choose Jack instead of the men he trusted. And any attempt to do so would waste precious minutes. So, instead, Jack pulled out a cigarette and excused himself.

No sooner was the door closed behind him than he produced the cell phone he'd taken off Mark and dialed Tony's cell phone number. Then Michelle's. Then he began to run towards the tool shed, all the while dialing the Almeida home number. No reply there, either.

"Dammit."

Phone still in hand, Jack began to run even faster.


	7. When the chopper hits the fan

**/N:** hey there, I'm glad you're enjoying the story. and thanks for your reviews, that's what makes ME enjoy writing this for you, so please keep reviewing. and remember, this is only the beginning...

* * *

Jack was now running towards the helipad - which was nothing but a round, grass-free patch in the lawn, located a little way beyond the tool shed. A beautiful Bell 212 stood there, waiting. She was painted sky blue, and lacked any markings on the side. It had one main rotor, and one rear rotor, both of which were painted black, with three white stripes towards the ends. The skids were unpainted. While approaching her, Jack considered a chopper's vulnerable points. Main rotor. Rear rotor. Hydraulics. Engine. He would have loved to use some of the C4 on the rear rotor, but it was useless without a detonator, and he had no time to tinker one. Besides, a detonator needed triggering, and he didn't want the chopper exploding too close to the hideout - too easily would Kreuk and his men have seen signs of sabotage and understood who was behind it. Jack decided to set to work on the engine itself and hope it would conk out after the helicopter was out of sight but before Tony and Michelle were on it.

--

Woo's Asia Heaven was just a couple of blocks away, so Tony and Michelle were on foot. It hadn't rained in Sacramento, and the air was still warm, the streets dry. Tony had swung his right arm around Michelle's shoulder for the promenade back home. Their shoes clicked on the sidewalk in unison, left and left, right and right, automatically following their familiar rhythm. He loved walking with her, being this close to her. Innocent moments like these made him feel complete.

"This was really nice," he whispered to her and kissed the top of her head.

"Mh-hm," she agreed. "We should be unreachable more often."

Tony smiled and pulled her closer. "Alright."

He watched as the sun slowly glided down on its arc and the daylight began to fade. The early dinner including desert, coffee and a walk had taken much longer than planned, but who would complain? He could work into the night. He'd had a chance to spend some quality time with Michelle and he'd enjoyed every minute of it.

Their neighborhood on the outskirts of Sacramento was quiet, and apart from a car passing by every now and then, the upper part of the street that led to their house was deserted. It was up a tiny private hill, apart from the rest of the street. The only road that led up there was the one ending in their own driveway.

They had just stepped onto that road when the distinct sound of an approaching helicopter tore the silence. Both Tony and Michelle instinctively looked towards the sky. Normally, Tony would have glanced at the helicopter just for a second, but three things made him stare: the chopper was on a direct course towards them, it was dragging a long tail of black smoke behind it and it was flying too low, rapidly losing altitude. He only had enough time to pull Michelle to a halt, muttering, "It's going down." before his prediction became a fact. Instinct hit, and he crouched with Michelle in his arms, shielding her from the blast with his body, even though the explosion was much too far away to hurt them.

When the deafening blast died away, the Marine and agent in him was on duty. "Get to the house, call 911," he commanded, pulling her up to her feet. "I'm going out to the crash site. Come on!"

They ran. Just three minutes later, Michelle had entered the house to place the call, Tony had fetched a flashlight from the trunk of his SUV, stuck it between his thighs and begun driving down the hill. It took him less than seven minutes, following the smoke that was rising from the ground, to find the burning wreck of the Bell. He left the engine running and the headlights on and jumped out of the SUV, flashlight in one hand and fire extinguisher in the other.

The sight before him wasn't pretty. The Bell had crashed nose first, and that part was flattened with the ground. A part of the rotor had broken off and was stuck in a power poll a few feet further down. The main rotor had cut through a power line. _Probably what caused the explosion_, Tony thought. The severed power lines hung down freely, setting off sparks every so often on both ends. Tony stopped moving for a second. _No wind. The cables should more or less stay where they are. But... Better not touch them._

Carefully choosing each step, he neared the helicopter. Enough of the color was discernable to conclude that the Bell had been blue before the crash. All of her windows were broken. The crash had left the fuel tank intact, so she hadn't been torn into pieces by the explosion, but there were smoldering flames in the cabin. Tony knew to take control of the fire before he could approach. He stuck the flashlight in a back pocket, aimed the fire extinguisher at the flames and activated it. Two short bursts, then stop. Repeat on the other flame sources. Stop. Flashlight.

The pilot was still strapped in his seat. His face was smashed inward from the impact and was lying on the instrument panel. Tony had the feeling that there would be no use checking up on him. He touched his neck artery anyway. Miracles sometimes happened. But not this time.

One more body, strapped in, sat in the back of the helicopter. Tony aimed the flashlight at it. The man wasn't wearing a helmet or had lost it. A piece of metal had gone straight through his temple and exited at the other side, shortcutting his two brain halves. _Two dead_. Tony surveyed the situation with the eyes of a professional, objectively, without getting emotional, not allowing the sight to get to him. A chopper this size could carry more than two people. Tony was about to check out the ground behind the Bell for anyone who might have fallen out when he realized that the man in the back had died clutching a Uzi-style weapon in his hands.

"What the -?"

Before he had the time to think, he heard something behind the Bell. Movement? _A survivor? _Obeying his instinct to help rather than the part of his brain that told him something was fishy, he stepped to the heli's tail.

"Hello?"

He held the flashlight in his left hand, the fire extinguisher in his right, both wrists intercrossed for stability, though that position would have been easier with a handgun than a bulky fire extinguisher. For a second, he actually wished for a SIGSauer, but owning a weapon would have been violating his parole.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

As he stepped to the other side of the chopper, he spotted another body on the ground. _Three dead_, he concluded. Prematurely, as it turned out a second later. He just about managed to see the supposed corpse lift the Uzi up an inch above the ground before gunfire erupted from the submachine gun. The dying man only had enough strength in him to park his finger on the trigger rather than aim and fire. Tony got lucky. The Uzi sent bullets flying on a path a good six feet to his right, giving him a chance to run away. When the weapon fell silent, Tony sprinted to his SUV and slammed the door shut. Without hesitation, he stepped on the gas pedal and drove the hell out of there.

--

At the top of their private road, Tony honked the horn. He left the engine running and stormed towards the house, yelling, "Michelle! Michelle!"

He hadn't been as relieved in a long time as when he saw her inside the house, by the table. She was methodically packing their company papers. Next to her on the ground lay a small bag that had already been packed. She had changed into black jeans and sneakers, keeping the t-shirt and blouse, only getting rid of those items of clothing which weren't made for running. On the table, beside the papers, lay her former service weapon, a SIGSauer P226, with spare clips, ready to go.

Tony sighed her name as he grabbed her into a hug, "You read my mind. We got to go. A guy out there just tried to kill me."

Michelle nodded as if she'd expected this. "Jack called."

"What?"

Michelle pulled back. "One phone call on each phone twenty minutes ago. Then ten minutes ago, he left a message. Someone's after us and we need to hide."

_What a great idea, Almeida, to leave the phones behind today of all days... _But he wasted no time. "Then Jack must have sabotaged the chopper," he concluded. "Come on, let's go."

"We should secure the documents first."

Tony grabbed her right wrist. "No. I have no idea who these people are, but I get the feeling that what they're after is _us_, not some documents." He was already pulling her out of the room. "We gotta leave."

She took two steps, then stopped, refusing to continue. "Tony..."

"Michelle!" Tony turned to her, ready to remind her of the urgency again.

The moment he looked into her eyes, they stabbed his heart.

She had never been weak. Never. She hated it when she got all woman-like and lost control of her emotions. But he saw this would be one of those moments. All sorts of things were written in her face: questions, uncertainty, insecurity, and what got to him most - anxiety. And as reluctant as he was to admit it to himself, he felt it, too... Hoping to conceal his own uneasiness, he pulled her into a hug.

She buried her face in his chest. After a while, she whispered through his shirt. "We left CTU..."

The three words, as small as they were, cracked open his heart. "'Chelle... Sweetheart..." He lowered his voice to disguise the fact that it would otherwise tremble. "We're gonna be ok..." It was his duty. He had to reassure her. Even if he had no idea how to keep the promise. "We're gonna be ok. You gotta trust me on this."

She remained quiet. Tony sighed. He led his hands into her hair, like he'd done so many times before. "Sweetheart, I love you. I promise you, I'll do everything I can to keep you safe. You know that." She let out the smallest of sobs, like she was ashamed of her crying. He kissed her hair. "You know that, right?"

She nodded wordlessly into his chest. He wanted to just build a solid wall around them both and keep everyone and everything on the other side of it. But that wouldn't help. "'Chelle," he whispered in a soothing voice, "Sweetheart, we've got to get out of here, now. Whoever crashed out there probably radioed to those who'd sent them before they went down. Others might already be out after us. We need to leave, now..."

She nodded again. Her embrace loosened. She stopped sobbing. Soon thereafter, she pulled back. She wiped her eyes dry with her hands, sniffled and sighed.

"Sorry..."

"No, don't apologize."

"I... I just can't believe this is happening," she said, and during that sentence, her voice had progressively become steadier. She sniffled again. "Why now?"

"I don't know," Tony replied honestly, while his thumbs smoothly glided over the wet skin underneath her eyes, drying her tears. "But we're gonna be fine."

Michelle took a deep breath, which she let out very slowly and sniffled one last time. "I'm okay. We should go."

By now her voice was steady, her movements decisive. She grabbed the bag she'd packed, stuffed the spare clips into it, took the weapon from the table, chambered a round, put the safety on and stuck the weapon in her waistband. Tony watched her swift, systematic movements and admired their determinedness. Just minutes ago, she was falling apart in his arms. Now, her vulnerability was ebbing away while Agent Dessler was resurfacing.

About to move towards the door, she raised her eyes to meet Tony's. She produced a small smile and softly kissed Tony's cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He didn't need to ask what for, nor did he protest - even though he normally would have reminded her that she didn't need to thank him for being there for her. But Agent Dessler was already on the move. Time was running out and neither of them knew how much time they had to begin with. He glanced at the table and took his cell phone, slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans. Then he grabbed the laptop, just in case. Next, he fetched two jackets from the closet by the door and finally ran out of the house, letting the door fall shut behind him.

It was almost dark outside now, save for the street lights. Michelle was already riding shotgun. The engine was still running, just like he'd left it. He placed the laptop and the jackets on the backseat, and hopped in the front.

"Ready?" He glanced at Michelle, who was staring out of the window, and noticed she was clutching the weapon in her hands. _Stupid question, Almeida_.

"Go," she said anyway, and go he did.

Slowly accelerating the SUV into a U-turn, he sighed, glancing at the house once again. Seconds later, the SUV was rolling down the road. Michelle's eyes stayed fixed on the mirror above the dashboard, watching the reflection of their house become smaller and smaller until Tony swerved off the straight road and into the now lit streets of greater Sacramento. Then, Michelle sighed.

--

Tony was about to drive onto a crossing when the wailing of a sirene tore the night, dangerously close by. He stepped on the breaks. Not a second too soon. The ambulance swerved into the street from the right, and dashed by without slowing down. Another ambulance buzzed by. Then a police cruiser. Tony kept checking the rear view mirror. They were still alone on the road, but for how long? One, two, three fire trucks. The howling noise preceded them and lingered in the air long after they were gone. After fifty seconds of idling around, Tony backed up. The cops had better things to do now than fine him for a forbidden U-turn.

He chose a busier street. They were no longer alone, but traffic was flowing. Maybe it would be easier to disappear in the crowd. Tony kept trying to see inside the vehicles behind the SUV, trying to make out the faces of the drivers moving in the opposite direction. Who was after them? Were they close? He glanced at the mirror. Then at Michelle. Then at the side mirror.

Then he felt Michelle's hand gently slide onto his thigh and looked at her. She said nothing but he understood. She was right. He couldn't start being paranoid. He shouldn't start getting distracted.

He would have closed his eyes for a moment if he hadn't been driving. Instead, he just sighed, then covered Michelle's hand with his, squeezing it ever so gently.

"So, where are we going?" she asked after a while, moving her armed hand to the other side of her seat.

Her question made him realize, "I have no idea."

Michelle interlocked her fingers with his. "East sounds good."

"Yeah." _If we ever make it out of the city._ "Not much land in the West, is there? Unless this baby can swim," he added, smirking.

She playfully smacked his wrist. "Wiseass."

Tony glanced at her. She was grinning. _Mission accomplished_.

He swerved onto Garden Highway and found himself in a standing line of cars. A red light. He should probably get onto I-5, then to I-80. He couldn't wait to start heading East, wherever the road took them. Hiding in the crowd had sounded good five minutes ago, but every time he halted, he felt like the grains of sand were falling faster into the hour glass than when the car was moving, however slowly that might have been. Every second that he wasted gave their pursuers a chance to catch up, to find them. He sighed yet again.

The red light turned to green, but the white Toyota in front of them wasn't moving. Tony honked the horn. Michelle glanced at him, as if to tell him not to attract attention. The driver in front of them showed Tony a finger, but then the car finally moved and Tony accelerated, too.

"Sorry, baby," he said towards Michelle a second later.

"It's ok."

He drove silently for half a minute or so before glancing at her briefly, as if to check up on her, and admitted, "This is driving me crazy..."

She was biting her lip.

"I keep thinking..." He left the street for one with a litlte less traffic. "I keep thinking, who the hell are these people? What do they want from us? Do we know them? Who are they really after? Does this have anything to do with CTU?" He paused briefly to take a long breath. In that moment, he realized how much he'd hate it if CTU was somehow - however remotely - the reason for this. It was their past life. Past, over with. He had no use for it any more.

Michelle touched his thigh again, but this time he didn't really notice it. He was still deep in his monologue. "And most of all, how's Jack involved? I mean, you and me and Chloe, we went through all that trouble to make sure he's dead to the world, that no-one found him... We hear nothing for months, and now he risks being detected to warn us? From whom? How does that fit in?"

He had to stop at another red light.

"Son of a bitch..."

He let his head drop backwards against the headrest.

--

Jack marched straight to the door of the room where Robin was being held, beating the ground with his shoes. He had that don't-mess-with-me look all about him. A guy he hadn't talked to before was guarding the door. He didn't move, even when Jack stopped in front of him.

"Hey," Jack began, "I want to go in there."

"Why?"

"To talk to the guy."

"You ain't got no business talking to no-one, unless Boss says so."

"Oh, come on. Five minutes." Jack stepped closer to the man and lowered his voice. "It's not gonna hurt anyone. Except maybe him," he smirked knowingly, pushing a curled up banknote into the man's palm.

The man closed his hand around the money and grinned. "Fine. But Boss still needs him."

"Yeah. I ain't gonna kill him." _Yet._

"Take your time."

The guard activated the number panel at the door and entered a four digit code, which Jack memorized. The door clicked open and Jack entered, glancing over his shoulder for a moment before the door fell to behind him.

--

A long line of cars had formed and Tony's SUV was right in the middle of it. The cars were crawling ahead slowly, like people were traveling for travel's sake only, not really needing to actually _arrive_.

"Son of a bitch," Tony muttered under his breath. But, realizing he couldn't do much about traffic, he looked at Michelle.

"How ya doing?"

She managed to smile. "Okay. You?"

Tony was about to reply he was fine when he saw a squad car turn onto the street. Not that seeing a police cruiser was unusual, but after everything that had happened, it simply wasn't his favorite sight. The vehicle slowly cruised past them in the opposite direction and that was when Tony realized what bothered him about this one. Its markings identified it as a vehicle belonging to the Sonoma County Sheriff's Department. But this was Sacramento, and between Sonoma and Sacramento lay the counties of Napa, Solano and Yolo, which meant that the squad car was a long way from home, and more importantly, out of its jurisdiction.

"Michelle," he said quietly. "Where does Jack live?"

Michelle must have sensed the note of disquiet in Tony's voice because she moved the weapon back onto her lap before replying. "Wasn't it somewhere near Sebastopol?"

"Yeah. Thought so, too," he nodded. Sebastopol lay in Sonoma County.

Michelle's eyes were following the squad car just like Tony's were. She'd obviously understood. "You don't think this is a coincidence, do you?"

Tony just looked at her without replying. The question was rhetorical anyway. After everything, only fools would believe in coincidences.

The police Ford made a U-turn in the middle of the road. A pick-up truck halted to let it into the line of traffic, two cars behind Tony's SUV. The cruiser was now rolling in the same direction as Tony and Michelle were - East.

Sonoma County was to the West.

Tony let out a long breath.

"Let's check," he murmured and turned left into a side street. Just before turning, he noticed the cruiser swerve onto the service lane. Seconds later, it turned left, too and appeared in Tony's mirror.

_Bingo._

Though he had been right, he wished he hadn't. What would cops from Sonoma County be wanting from him? Or Michelle? Unless they were bogus cops, of course, which was a possibility. He continued to roll down the street strictly under the speed limit, and observed, relieved, that traffic ahead was almost non-existent at the moment. He was considering making a turn to check if the cops would follow once again, when the vehicle behind them suddenly turned on the rooftop lights and yelped. The red and white flashy disco lighting that the squad car brought to the dark side street seemed so festive all of a sudden. Tony couldn't help but sourly think, _party time_.

"They're pulling us over," Michelle observed.

"Yeah..." Tony didn't take his foot off the gas pedal. He hadn't yet decided whether to stop or try to escape; for now, he kept to status quo.

Michelle clutched the SIGSauer in her hands, tightening her fingers around the grip. She even took the safety off. She turned to look at the cruiser. "Are you going to stop?"

"I don't know..." Tony sighed. "They couldn't have seen me make the U-turn. I've done nothing wrong. The car isn't stolen. And they're out of their jurisdiction anyway. They have no reason to pull us over."

The squad car let out two impatient yelps, and now Tony could clearly see the cruiser signaling him to pull over to the curb. He could no longer pretend. _Son of a bitch_...

"Hide the gun," he said towards Michelle, activating the turning signal.

When she'd stuck the weapon into her handbag on the floor, Tony complied with the cruiser's request. Michelle made sure that the doors were locked, and he couldn't blame her. He rolled down the window but left the engine running. Michelle's hand came to rest on Tony's thigh again. But now, her fingers were freezing cold.

The squad car stood still for a few seconds, but then both its front doors opened and two figures stepped out, both with one hand resting on their side, where their weapons were holstered, and the other hand carrying a working flashlight. Tony watched them in the side mirror. The driver approached Tony's side, the other cop neared Michelle's. Tony's heart was pounding hard in his chest. It felt all wrong. The cops stopped, one at each side of the SUV, and shone their flashlights in Tony's and Michelle's faces.

"Would you both step out of the car?" the one at Tony's side spoke and that's when Tony - and probably Michelle, too - _knew_ that things were fishy. Tony's mind spun a quick list of the why's. _One of the cops stays in the vehicle, only one approaches. They tell you to turn off the engine. They tell you to keep your hands where they can see them. They tell you what you've done wrong. They ask for your license and registration and ask you to stay in the vehicle. _This was not right.

And then the flashlight of the cop on Michelle's side hit the uniform of the guy standing at Tony's side. 'California Highway Patrol', the seal on it read. Tony's eyes met Michelle's; she'd seen it, too.

"Sir, turn off the engine and step out of the car."

"Alright," Tony said and motioned towards the ignition switch, but at the same time floored the gas pedal.

The SUV, tires squealing, dashed away from the scene.

--

After the heavy door had clicked behind Jack, the anger that he'd been suppressing came roaring to the surface like a stream of lava crawling up a volcano crater. He spotted the object of his hatred standing by the opposite wall of the tiny room. A thin chain was fitted around the ankle of Rob's right foot. The chain's other end was fastened to the concrete wall behind him, restraining his movements to a radius of three feet at best. The lonely light bulb just about managed to lift the darkness enough for colors to be recognizable. Rob's shirt seemed a much darker yellow in this light, a fact that didn't consciously register with Jack: if he'd ever been blind with anger, it was now. All he saw was the target of his fury and a bit of a space in between.

Jack couldn't have reached Rob faster if he had flown. It seemed like only a second had passed before he had Robin pinned to the concrete wall. His right fist almost instantly connected with Rob's cheekbone, then his left fist followed the example. By then, Rob's survival instinct had kicked in, and he almost managed to headbutt Jack in return. It was an awkward attack, with little strength going into it, since Jack hadn't given Wilson much space to begin with. Jack had managed to avoid the hit, but the attempt did serve to make him back off a little, allowing Robin to untangle his arms.

He then lashed out at Jack, who blocked the arm and smashed it into the wall behind Robin, causing Rob's clenched fist to go limp inside Jack's hand. Robin pushed himself away from the wall, and grabbed Jack's shoulder with his left hand, trying to secure him in place, then throwing a punch at Jack's head with his right. Jack saw it coming, blocked it, and pulled Robin down, then kneed him between the legs. He grabbed Robin, twisting his arm behind his back and spinning him around. At the same time, he stepped on the chain that held Robin's foot, thus fixing the foot in place. Finally, he threw Robin down to the floor. Robin's ankle cracked audibly as it broke. His body fell to the ground, the fall accompanied by a thud and a scream.

Then, Jack let go of Robin and stepped back.

--

The uniformed men instantly grabbed their weapons and fired a few shots towards the SUV. Michelle bent down so that her head was below the dashboard and Tony stooped down as far as he could without losing sight of the road ahead. When the gunfire ceased, Tony glanced at the side mirror, seeing the cops run back inside their cruiser.

"Clear," he uttered and sat up.

Michelle reached into the handbag, removing the firearm from it, and then sat up, too. "Who are these people?"

"Not the Sheriff's Department nor the Highway Patrol, that's for sure," he replied, somewhat breathless. "You alright?"

"Yeah," She looked back over her shoulder. "They're closing in on us."

The SUV was approaching a crossing. Two cars were already stopped at a red signal ahead. Tony knew he couldn't stop. He reached out to Michelle. "Hold on tight."

She sat up, leaning against the seat and secured the weapon to prevent misfiring. Tony gripped the wheel with both hands again. Fifty yards. Twenty. Ten. Just before he would have crashed into the standing cars, Tony swerved the SUV onto the sidewalk.

The cruiser now had a real reason to follow them. It kept the distance, but its siren was constantly howling now. It raced through the red light but stayed on the road, driving between cars that made space for it to pass. Tony was nearing another crossing. He saw the white Mack truck approach from the right, but couldn't stop. Michelle tightly gripped the arm rest in the door and pushed her left palm against the dashboard. If she had wanted to scream, her voice must have frozen in her throat. She wasn't breathing. The truck honked as Tony drove into its path. Tony floored the pedal, praying to be faster, while the truck driver stepped on the brakes. The air shook as the truck roared behind the SUV, but both vehicles continued on their course.

Michelle closed her eyes, letting out a breath of relief.

_Thank you, God_, Tony thought. He moved to the sidewalk again, dodging obstacles in his way and praying that any and all people would get out of the vehicle's path before he came too dangerously close to them. At the next crossing, he saw the entrance to Interstate 5. He left the sidewalk and came back onto the Garden Highway. It stretched eastwards for as far as eye could see. This was the ramp he had planned to take. But now he was approaching the intersection at a breakneck speed. He couldn't make the 360° turn if he'd been a stunt driver. He cursed inwardly as he swooshed past the crossing and continued straight on.

The patrol car had cleared the intersection, too, and was gaining on them again. And now they started to shoot.

"Duck!" Tony shouted, instinctively pushing Michelle's head down with one hand.

Bullets first clang off the SUV's chassis, then one hit the back window, puncturing a hole in it, then flew through the windshield between Tony and Michelle, cracking that glass in a spiderweb fashion.

"Drive!" Michelle yelled back, pushing Tony's hand back onto the steering wheel. She unbuckled her seatbelt.

"Michelle, stay down!"

"Drive!" Weapon ready, she was already crawling between the seats. She kept her head low, but leveled the SIGSauer at the vehicle in pursuit of them and fired three shots. The glass shattered and jumped out.

"Turning. Hold on to something!" The warning came just in time for Michelle to grip the sides of her seat, then Tony stepped on the brakes and made a 90° right turn. The SUV turned onto the bridge at the beginning of Discovery Park Drive. The squad car's tires squealed angrily as it continued the pursuit. Michelle rose and fired four more shots through the back window.

The road ahead was a narrow, winding, two lane serpentine heading South and ending just before American River. A narrow bridge led across the river, into Jibboom Street that ran alongside Sacramento River, parallel to I-5. Traffic was light on Discovery Park now and streetlights were scarce. Grassy areas and trees covered the ground on both sides. A wide right curve lay ahead but just before the road bent, Tony drove the offroader into the field at the left. The SUV raised a cloud behind itself as the dry soil protested under the vehicle's weight. Michelle fired the weapon a couple of times, then buckled up in her seat again. The police cruiser hadn't given up. It was following them through the dirt. The SUV was jumping up and down in response to the bumps on the ground, but was still moving substantially faster than the police sedan behind. And suddenly, another cruiser joined the first, this one from Sacramento PD.

"Three is a crowd," Michelle observed before that vehicle turned onto the Discovery Park Drive.

Tony didn't reply. Company could be a good thing or a bad thing in this case, depending on where you stood. Rather than going off-road, the Sacramento cruiser continued down the Drive, moving roughly parallel to Tony's route in the field. _They're gonna cut us off_, Tony concluded, changing direction between trees and hoping to lead the fake cops into one of the trees, but they refused to crash.

Eventually, the field ended and Tony had no choice but to turn back onto the Drive. The road made an immediate right turn, which Tony took, but so did the Sacramento cruiser which was now right behind him. _Son of a bitch. Real cops. Now if they start shooting..._ Before he ended the thought, shots rang out. Something popped the SUV and he knew they'd hit a tire. The sheer weight of the SUV now worked against Tony's efforts to steer it. Thanks to pure skill, he managed to turn left, and take the bridge. The cruisers were so close they filled the side mirror now. Bullets were still flying. Michelle was sitting with the SIGSauer between her hands, on her lap, clutching the weapon in both her hands, but neither looking for a target nor putting the firearm away. She tightened and released her grip on the weapon, checked the mirror, looked at Tony, ducked when shots came from behind, then looked at Tony again.

Tony ducked, too, for a second, and he understood her dilemma. "Don't be a cop-killer," he told her. "It's not worth it."

"You think the Sacramento unit is real?"

"Don't take the chance."

Another popping sound on the left announced the second tire literally being shot to hell. The SUV violently pulled to the left. Tony steered against it. It was like fighting an elephant. With two tires busted, the SUV seemed to be skating on ice. Somehow, he managed to pull against the vehicle's force, but knew he couldn't hold on for long. He had to ease up on the gas. _We're lost_, it shot through his head.

Michelle grabbed the wheel to help Tony tame the beast just as the bridge was about to end. To the left side of the bridge lay a short stretch of road which immediately forked. The right portion of it led underneath the I-5. But they wouldn't get far on it in these circumstances.

"Left!" Michelle yelled, edging the steering wheel into a turn together with Tony.

The road became sand, and the sand was the riverbank.

Instead of stopping, Tony floored the pedal.

The SUV drove straight into the water.


	8. Treading Water

**A/N: **_Thank you for the reviews! keep 'em coming cause you guys are the reason I write! I'm happy you like the story, and there's lots more to come! So keep checking the site!_

* * *

Jack didn't really need to interrogate the guy, he just needed his attention.

He was sure he had it.

He watched the prisoner. He knew the pain in Robin's ankle was alive, despite the man's stoic mask. The guy had remained sitting on the floor, not attempting to stand or even move his injured leg, but he didn't allow himself to whine, either. Jack knew the type: proud, full of himself, refusing to admit defeat. Many of them, he'd sent to hell.

Wilson must have served in the military. His posture, the way he carried himself, the fight that he'd tried to put up, despite being on the losing end from the start, the way he took the injury with that grin and bear attitude of a soldier were some of the signs. A telephone pole couldn't have been any straighter than Wilson's spine when he stood. When he spoke, he had the aura of _chain of command_ written all over him. In Kreuk's presence, Rob spoke only when spoken to, but commandeered low-level staff on Kreuk's team - a way of speech that was clearly second nature to him. Just like Jack himself, if Rob wanted something, he _demanded _it. He wore his shirt buttoned to the top. It had been perfectly ironed - well, until Kreuk's thugs threw him in here. Now it wore a couple of blood stains, some wrinkles and had lost one button. Jack noted the guy's fingers were bare; no rings, or anything to suggest a ring had recently been there, and guessed that the man had never been married. Somehow, the idea didn't surprise him...

Without bothering to get up from the bench, Jack suddenly said, "So... Rob Wilson. How does it feel to get your ass kicked instead of kicking some?"

"It's _Robin _Wilson. And screw you."

Jack nodded. "Fair enough. You're not my favorite guy on Earth either." ­He leaned his elbows on his knees and touched his fingertips of both hands to one another. "So, tell me, _Robin _Wilson. How's this guy Almeida supposed to help you?"

Wilson's eyes narrowed. "That why you want a piece of me? That guy mean anything to you?"

Jack refused to fall for it. "I'm asking the questions. You are answering them."

Wilson nodded in thought. "Hmm..." Then he produced a small grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "See, Keagan... That what you said your name was? I don't think you're that high on the C.O.C. here. You're not trying to question me on Kreuk's behalf. You wanted to talk to me _alone_. You want to know why I'm involving _your friend _Almeida in this. Isn't that so?"

Jack didn't move, though he hadn't expected Wilson to be this quick. "Just answer the question."

"Evasive..." Wilson snuffled.

Jack was an expert at this game. "Don't try me."

Slowly, Robin pulled his uninjured leg closer and managed to, somewhat awkwardly, lean onto the wall behind him. "Well, I'll tell you this. That traitor son of a bitch ruined my career." He paused to try and loosen the chain around his broken ankle a little bit. The chain was too short and too tight. He only sighed in frustration.

"I've always been a patriot, and I've always done my job well. Couple years back, I was Senior Systems Analyst at a good company. Good pay, health benefits, the works. Then that bastard Almeida showed up. He worked for me. Or that's what it said on paper, anyway, that he _worked_. The SOB was drinking enough to drown an army. So I fired him."

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't quite like that," Jack protested. The head of the company was a friend. Jack knew the story. But Jack couldn't reveal it. "I'm sure you helped along. You don't seem like the kind of guy who'd just stand by and watch."

"Yeah, well. Guess we'll never know." Robin gritted his teeth for a second, his eyes narrowed, then he relaxed again. "Next thing I know, I get fired 'cause I kicked out his drunk ass. And the irony of it all? Now _I _can't get a job, _I'm _falling to social dumpster level and that Spic traitor builds up his own company _and _gets the girl."

"I see, so you're the real victim, right?" Jack commented, holding himself back from smashing Robin's face in.

Wilson grinned. "I knew you'd understand."

--

The SUV crawled through the water, wheels digging heavily into the soft, muddy ground. The water only bathed the wheels for now, but the river was getting deeper and deeper, slowly engulfing the vehicle that still fought against it.

The Sacramento squad car stopped at the riverbank, headlights directed at the floating SUV. The doors flew open, and the two officers exited, weapons drawn. Using the open doors of the cruiser for cover, they crouched, taking aim at the renegade vehicle. Nothing was moving except for the river and the unwilling boat. Inch by inch, the battle continued. The wheels fought to keep rolling, but the river had other plans. The black water beat against the shiny metal. It washed over the car, reaching the hood, looking to conquer its inside.

The Sonoma County cruiser squealed to a stop behind the Sacramento one. Its occupants crouched behind their doors in much the same way as the previous unit had done. Then one of the Sacramento cops, whose name tag identified him as A. Cooper, spoke into a megaphone directed towards the river.

"Sacramento PD! Exit the vehicle with your hands on your head."

The SUV's doors remained closed.

One of others fired a shot at the water behind the SUV. The Sacramento cops dropped to their knees and looked back, startled. The gunman raised a hand in apology. Meanwhile, the riverbed firmly gripped the SUV's wheels and refused to let go of them. The river had won.

Officer Cooper raised the megaphone above the edge of his door. "Sacramento PD! Step out of the vehicle with your hands on your head!"

The occupants of the SUV still refused to comply.

He tossed the megaphone inside the vehicle and whispered to Officer Tyler, his partner, "Todd, I'm going to check this out."

"I'm with you."

Officer Cooper signaled to the other two men to give them cover. Illumination from headlights and flashlights unzipped the night ahead of them. They cautiously waded into the river, across the soft soil, into the cold water. Crossing the fifty yards, half crouching, against the river's force seemed to take an effort like jogging for two hundred. It took them full five minutes. The SUV was still stuck. No sound had came from it while they approached, no movement, nothing. Signaling to one another, they circled around the vehicle, weapons at the ready.

"Sacramento PD!" Todd shouted this time.

Tyler and Cooper synchronously stepped to the front doors and shone their flashlights inside the open windows to discover - no-one. Water had filled the inside of the SUV all the way to the dashboard, and the vehicle was just another small obstacle in the river's way now, as it effortlessly flowed in and out of it.

"Clear!"

Flashlight beams rose into the night. Occasional waves in the black river playfully jumped into the white rays of light like dolphins in the sea. The beams scanned the water surface, the nearby bank, the opposite bank. Nothing.

"He's gone," Cooper concluded.

Tyler nodded, holstering the weapon. "We can call air support. He can't be far. Even if he crossed the river, which I doubt. It's, what, some 140 yards to the other side. Cold, dark, and against the current."

"You never know." Cooper mumbled from the driver's side, "He just might be the college swimming champ or something." He scanned the inside of the vehicle with the flashlight. Something that looked like a thin, black box was stuck between the gas pedal and the driver's seat. He reached inside and grasped it, shook it and pulled at it until it came free. He lifted it out of the water. His eyes grew wide as the distinct shape of a laptop appeared in the beam of the flashlight.

"Todd, check this out."

Tyler did and shook his head. "Not the cheapest thing to use as a lever."

"Obviously, some people can afford it."

Tony and Michelle watched the scene unfold from behind a large tree log that was floating in the river. Having fled the vehicle through the open windows just before the squad car lit it up with his headlights, and dived into the chilly water, they'd grabbed the floating log and allowed the stream to carry them towards Sacramento river. The police officers were still too close for comfort. Tony held Michelle by the waist with his right hand and the log with his left, while Michelle held on to him, and kept a knotted plastic bag slightly above water level. The bag contained their cell phones and Michelle's weapon.

Neither of them dared whisper a word; they almost didn't dare breathe. The night was quiet and - except for the water around them - silent. Staying invisible to their pursuers was their only chance. They floated backwards, the log the only barrier between them and the policemen's eyes. Tony hated having his back turned to the river; it violated the first rule of being out in the water. But it couldn't be helped: avoiding detection was the priority. Occasionally, he did turn, using the faint light of the half moon up in the black sky to see how far the river mouth was. He guessed they were still some 300 yards or so away. He wished they could avoid Sacramento River. It was a larger and stronger body of water than American River, and he wasn't too keen on meeting with it at night. Dry land would be preferable by far. But not just yet. Now, it was the little things that counted. Like keeping the log from changing its orientation by working hard under water.

Suddenly, something hit them. It took Tony a moment to realize Michelle's legs had bumped into something, and then she grabbed him. He tightened his own grip on her, seeing her squeeze her eyes shut and put a hand to her mouth to suppress a yell. As she did, she let go of the plastic bag, which happily danced away on the next wave. Michelle, quick as ever, grabbed the bag almost instantly, before it was lost, but she couldn't do it without making a sound.

Tony had to react. He took a deep breath, pressed his mouth against Michelle's and pulled her down. Once submerged, he slowly exhaled half of his air load into her, fingers gently brushing strands of hair from her eyes. She stuck the plastic bag underneath her blouse, which she then buttoned to the top to keep the bag from floating to the surface. Tony gestured to her that he would dive deeper. She nodded and their lips parted. Letting his hands glide down her body, Tony navigated himself down, past her bottom, working his way down her thighs, knees and calves. He couldn't make out any injuries on her legs thus far. Her jeans seemed intact, too, though that in itself meant nothing. But when he touched her ankles, he felt her tightly squeeze his shoulder. He looked up at her, but couldn't make out her face. So he just found her hand and squeezed it gently to show that he understood, then let go of it again. Now he felt around her ankles more carefully. Indeed, the fabric on her left leg was torn. _Son of a bitch..._

--

All four cops had instantly turned towards the sound of the escaping plastic bag. A tree log was swimming in the water where the sound had come from, but at least half a dozen others floated close by, too. But the uniforms at the riverbank looked at each other. "That sound like a tree log to you?"

"Nah."

"Let's go check."

One of them whistled quietly towards Cooper and Tyler, and when they turned, he signaled to the left. A nod indicated understanding, and the two began to walk by the river, carefully scanning the waterline. Sacramento PD moved in the same direction, but stayed in the wet element.

--

Tony had pulled himself up again and breathed another kiss into Michelle, but his lungs were struggling. And if his were, Michelle's were bound to be, too. Few mammals could handle life in water, and humans weren't one of them. _Whoever's out there, it's not worth letting her drown. If we didn't fool them by now, we won't_, he surmised.

The decision was made as quickly as the decision to dive in the first place. He took Michelle into his arms and a second later, he was rising up. Tony led with an open palm, to prevent their heads from bumping into a log or something equally unwelcome. And then they surfaced, causing the water around them to audibly splash.

"There! There's something!"

"Here they are!"

The shouts reached Tony's ears almost before his brain had the time to process the fact that his nose was out of water again and order his screaming lungs to breathe in. He heard Michelle panting for air even worse.

"Freeze! Don't move!"

_Yeah I heard ya_, he thought. He also thought someone shouted something about needing them alive. But he couldn't be sure.

The shouts continued. Tony ignored them, simply breathing. Flashlights danced in the dark. Tony looked in the direction they were coming from, seeing two uniforms wade through the water. Finally becoming aware of their drawn weapons, Tony wished it had never come this far. He tried touching his toes to the riverbed. He couldn't.

"Come closer!" someone shouted from the riverbank.

Tony obeyed this one. It was over. He'd had enough of floating around. He drew nearer in the light path of the nearest flashlight, like an airplane using ILS on landing approach. He swam one-handedly, the other hand still holding Michelle's waist; she did the same. Swimming was hard work now. But they moved ahead. Slowly. When he next tested the depth of the river, he found his footing again. He took two steps forward, until he felt secure enough to stand.

Officer Tyler shouted, "That's enough! Freeze!"

Tony did.

Hunters and prey all stood quiet for a moment. But then, Tony grabbed Michelle from behind and placed an arm around her neck. In his other hand, he held Michelle's SIGSauer and directed it at Michelle's head, making sure the cops saw it.

"Step back! Step back!" he yelled. "I have a hostage! Back up!"

Tony couldn't see Michelle's face, but he knew she must have been shocked by what he did - heck, he had almost shocked himself, too. But the only other way out of this was for both of them to surrender, which wasn't an option.

_Never aim at anything you don't wish to destroy_: one of the ground rules of handling firearms, drilled into every soldier's brain like the ABC. Tony held the weapon's muzzle close to but not directly pointed at Michelle's head and his finger strictly on the side of the barrel, well away from the trigger itself. The safety was still on. Darkness was his friend, and his enemy at the same time. The others couldn't tell exactly how he was holding the weapon, but on the other hand, Tony could hardly see them. The river beat his thighs, trying to break him. Soft, unstable ground underneath his feet looked to pull him down. He trembled with adrenaline. He knew this could fail. Big time.

"I have a hostage, I'll kill her! Step back!" he yelled anyway.

_Real cops would negotiate. _He'd give her up to real cops. He'd go to jail again, if only he knew she'd live. Real cops would negotiate. Real cops would play by the rules. False cops... Well... No way to tell.

"Back!"

--

Jack stood from the bench. Robin followed him with his eyes, as Jack approached him and stopped right in front of him. "Well?"

Robin, disinterested, stared at Jack. "Well, what?"

Jack landed a hard kick somewhere in Robin's stomach or abdomen, not that he really cared what exactly he'd hit. Then he stepped back.

"Don't think that I won't hurt you again, because _I will_."

--

Tony tried to make out the men behind the flashlights. Two at his left, two at the front. Four weapons, all drawn and ready to fire. At least two crooks. What were the odds?

They'd pulled the typical hostage situation routine on him, the same routine he'd pulled on hostage takers himself. He knew it all too well: calming talk, asking his name and using it (Tony had given the name Armadillo; he'd somehow always liked it), then trying to make him lay down the weapon, promising a painless resolution to the situation, a deal...

Michelle had played along. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest that Tony could feel her neck artery throb under his arm. With every minute that passed, he'd felt her lean more against him. The river's force was unrelenting. It had become increasingly difficult to remain stable on his feet while supporting one and a half body weights.

Not one of the five firearms had moved from their positions since the hostage situation started.

"Your best bet is to give up the hostage," Officer Cooper finally said, uttering the very phrase Tony had been waiting to hear for the last ten minutes. "Then we can work something out."

As the officer took one step towards Tony, Tony pointed his SIG in the general direction of the uniforms, as risky as it was.

"Stop right there! Don't move!"

They complied.

He pulled Michelle a step deeper into the water, backing off. His mouth touched her right ear.

"Sweetheart," he began, even realizing the awkwardness of that word in this situation."Sweetheart, listen to me and please do as I ask. We're gonna crouch down now and I'm gonna let you go. I want you to take a deep breath and dive. Swim as far away as you can before going on land. You understand me?" He paused to bark at the cops not to move. "And I don't want you to worry about me. This will all be cleared up real soon." He could have slapped himself. _Just how naive do you think she is, Almeida? _"I _will _see you again. Alright? I love you."

She squeezed his forearm and he knew it was a yes. Then he took a deep breath. Inwardly, he cursed the situation that didn't allow him to give her a goodbye kiss.

"Alright, I'm lettin' her go!" he announced. "But first, I want y'all to holster your weapons! Do it! Now! Holster your weapons!"

The first one to comply was Officer Tyler.

"Holster your weapons!"

Hesitantly, urged by Tony's repeated commands, the others complied, one by one.

"Alright!" Tony yelled into the night, slowly lowering himself and Michelle down.

"Go," he whispered to her and gave her a push into the water behind him. _Don't shoot now_.

He kneeled into the mud, almost falling backwards before he found his balance. He pointed the SIGSauer at the air above him, then raised his left hand, too. The waves that Michelle made while swimming away caressed his spine. Water splashed as she must have surfaced for air, and then dived again. _Don't look back, Sweetheart._

He didn't move. The Sacramento unit was close, and from what Tony had seen, he guessed they were real and almost allowed himself to feel relieved. They wouldn't shoot unless he gave them a reason to, and he wasn't about to. But then there were the other two. And they were still a mystery.

Officer Cooper reached him first, while Officer Tyler waited with the weapon at the ready, blinding Tony with his flashlight. On purpose, without a doubt. Tony hung his head and kept it low, avoiding provocation and the light beam. Cooper disarmed Tony, cuffed him and pulled him up on his feet, all within a few seconds. To Tony's chilled body, the steel almost felt warm. By the time he reached the riverbank, he heard no sounds from Michelle. She was far from safe, but at least _somewhat _safer.

Cooper and Tyler each held one of Tony's arms, leading him to the other two uniforms.

"Well, there you go," were Cooper's first words as he gave Tony up.

They were also his last.

Four silenced shots rang out, slicing through Cooper's and Tyler's skulls. The bodies fell backwards into the river, which immediately swallowed them. That's when Tony knew all hope was lost.

And then someone switched off the moonlight.

--

Jack had just landed another kick in Robin's body. While Robin coughed, Jack fetched the bag that that Blondie had left in the room earlier. He brought it to the middle of the room, then set it to the ground, theatrically, so as to draw Robin's attention to it. He kneeled down and unzipped it, beginning to examine its contents.

Having caught his breath, Robin forced his torso to stretch, breathing in. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

Jack removed the taser from the bag and briefly activated it. He glanced at Robin for a second, without verbally answering. Then he switched the taser off again.

"Yeah, you've done it before."

"Listen up, you worm," Jack began, standing up. "You've already pulled Tony into this. There's nothing I can do to change that now. So, all I want is to make you understand how much I disagree with what you did." He took a step woards Robin. "And secondly, I want to know what the software that you were working on - Tony's software, by the looks of it - is supposed to be used for."

Robin spit on the floor, right in front of Jack. "You wanna torture me, fine, go ahead. I'm a trained soldier. I've been through one or two things in my life that - I assure you - were likely worse than whatever you could do to me here."

"You don't know me very well," Jack muttered under his breath.

"Think," Wilson said simply. "_You _have no way of influencing what happens to Tony or his beautiful wife when it comes to Kreuk. I do."

Jack laughed. "You? Maybe a couple of hours ago, that would have been true. Now, you're an outcast here just like you are everywhere else. You're a screw-up. Kreuk isn't going to listen to you any more than he'll trust a six-year old with a suitcase nuke."

Beeping sounds from the door announced someone entering the code. Jack zipped up the bag and pushed it to a corner. When the door opened, the man who'd let Jack in was standing in the doorway.

"Keagan, Boss is looking for ya."

"Okay," Jack nodded and headed to the door. Before pulling the door closed behind him, he glanced at Robin and promised, "I'll be back."

--

When Tony woke up, he was half lying in the back of the squad car. His skull throbbed painfully. He looked outside. The vehicle raced down a road, and light poles flew by in quick succession. The rooftop lights flashed incessantly, coating nearby trees in blue and red for a second at a time. Tony guessed they were doing 80mph on a freeway, but had no idea where they were. He remembered the river, and wondered if Michelle had made it. Warmth to his left caused him to glance at the seat next to him. His heart sank. Michelle. Duct-taped, wet, roughed up. Her beautiful face looked peaceful, as if she were sleeping. Her blouse was torn at her right shoulder. Her jeans were muddy and soaked. Her hair was damp. Strands of hair were wrapped around her neck, lying on her cheeks, hanging in front of her eyes. He wanted to brush her curls to where they belonged, but when he tried to move his arms, he couldn't. What held his wrists secured wasn't steel; it was cutting into his skin. _Flex cuffs_, he realized. Someone had made a switch while he was out. It hurt, but Tony had other priorities. Michelle. She'd been injured.

He tried to spy the injury from where he sat without moving and calling attention to himself. The lights in the back doors were on. The extra light helped. After a while, Tony managed to make out dried blood around Michelle's left ankle. He couldn't tell how serious it was, but his head throbbed even more when he realized that it might get infected. _In fact, it might already be infected; it's not like the river water was sterile_.

He sighed heavily. This elicited a scrutinizing look from the guy in the passenger seat, on the other side of the wired divider between the front and the back seats. Tony returned the glare with the darkest stare he could produce. It provoked no reaction in the fake cop and he turned away again. The driver didn't even glance at the mirror to look at Tony. Tony's cheeks heated up with anger. He imagined the bastards hunting Michelle down like game, pulling her out of the river or waiting for her to come on shore, to presumed safety, catching her, and throwing her carelessly into the vehicle.

And that - in all likelihood - was only the beginning.

--

The door to Kreuk's office stood open when Jack got there. Kreuk's personal thugs were posted outside, as usual. Approaching, Jack nodded towards them. They didn't return the gesture, but at least they moved. He knocked on the door frame before entering. Kreuk was sitting behind a desk with a cigar in his hand. The air already stank of old smoke. Jack breathed shallowly as he entered. Even though air conditioning was installed (Jack noticed the controler by the door), it was off; Jack could only wonder why. Maybe Kreuk was so used to the smell that he didn't notice it any more. But a person with a weak or empty stomach would have serious problems hanging around.

Kreuk acknowledged Jack's arrival with a quick nod to the guards, who then closed the door. Jack tried not to jump to conclusions. He figured this would be some kind of official talk. It wouldn't be hard to fall back into the appropriate speak for the occasion, and the posture and attitude to match. So he stopped three steps into the room, took a wide stance, holding his one palm in the other, behind his back, like he'd always done when being briefed, and waited.

The office was a little more spacious than the inside of a decent-sized delivery truck. Actually, it kind of looked like it too: a windowless, inside room, far away from the front door. It was certainly no coincidence Kreuk had chosen it for himself. If a secret tunnel out of the building existed, Jack guessed it began here. The furniture consisted only of a couple of wooden chairs, a long dining table that had been put to use as a desk in the middle of the room, and a cabinet, whose one door stood ajar, revealing several bottles of fine, expensive alcohol, and three boxes of Cuban cigars. The cigars were illegal in America, but Jack guessed Kreuk didn't care much for U.S. laws anyway. The floor served as a shelf. A multitude of papers, folders and binders stood or lay there, lined along the walls. Despite the sheer mass of paper, it seemed like every single sheet was in its exact intended spot. Every binder was pushed back to touch the wall, so that they all formed a single straight line, lending an aura of order to the space. Cold neon light from the ceiling illuminated every corner of the office. On the left side of Kreuk's desk stood a reading lamp. Next to it was a bottle of obscenely expensive Johnny Walker Blue Label, and a glass with whiskey, waiting. Two iBooks sat on the desk, too. Jack assumed them to be currently in use. A large framed photograph had a prominent place on the desk. Jack couldn't see the picture from where he stood, but it was the kind of frames people used for their family photos. Maybe Kreuk did have a weakness after all.

Kreuk pleasurably smoked for a little while, but eventually announced, "Walls have ears, Mr. Keagan."

Jack guessed that no reply was expected.

Kreuk took a drag from the cigar, and after exhaling the thick smoke, explained, "It has come to my attention that you and Mr. Wilson have had a little _tête-à-tête_."

_So you didn't like me taking initiative_. Jack didn't move except to produce a slight smile. "I wouldn't quite call it that, Sir. I only tried to talk to him."

"Indeed, you did. What about?"

"His failure, Sir."

"Was he communicative?"

"No, Sir."

Kreuk nodded, as if in deep thought. He took a sip from the glass, closing his eyes while swallowing the whiskey. He had the appearance of a man in control of time. Finally, he nodded, finding Jack's stare, then stood, pacing over to Jack's position. "Did I task you with interrogating Mr. Wilson?"

Jack lowered his eyes so as not to challenge the alpha male. "No, Sir."

Kreuk nodded again, filling his mouth with fresh smoke, which he exhaled in Jack's direction.

Jack had never been a cigar smoker. An occasional fag here and there, especially now that he was undercover with a crowd where most men smoked anyway, but cigars just didn't do it for him. He held his breath until the smoke cloud flew by.

"I appreciate your not attempting to lie," Kreuk stated, stepping away.

Jack stayed put while Kreuk walked past him. _What would be the point anyway?_

Suddenly, Kreuk grabbed Jack from behind and pressed one giant hand tightly over Jack's mouth. Then he stuck the burning end of the cigar into Jack's left arm.

Jack's scream came out muffled. He almost bit Kreuk's hand, but it was strategically well placed, preventing him from it. The cigar burned into Jack's skin like a big chunk of glowing hot charcoal. Jack tried to jerk himself free, but failed.

It was all over after two or three torturously long seconds. When Kreuk let go of him, Jack's knees gave in, and he fell to the floor, hitting the concrete hard. The arm felt like he'd held it into a fire. It was useless. He wound his other arm around it protectively. The stench of charred skin mixed with the sweet and herb smell of the cigar and the stink of the stale, hot air. Now, even Jack's stomach was protesting.

Kreuk stood above Jack. "Mr. Keagan, in my organization, my orders are followed and executed. You do only­ what you are told to do and you do that without questioning. You do _not _do things without my knowledge or approval."

When Jack didn't look at him, he pulled Jack's head back, grabbing him by the hair. "You already refused to obey me earlier today, when I demanded of you to terminate that thief. I looked the other way. But I only look the other way _once_. Do I make myself clear?"

Jack wasn't about to make Kreuk wait for an answer. He needed to be able to fight today. Through the pain, he uttered, "Yes."

Kreuk pulled even harder. "Repeat that."

"Yes, we're clear... Sir."

"Excellent."

Kreuk let go of Jack and directed himself towards his desk again. He dropped the remains of the cigar in the clean crystal ashtray that stood waiting there and glanced at the photograph of himself, his wife and two daughters. It was dated July of the previous year. The Sleeping Beauty Castle at Disneyland stood prominently in the background. He almost smiled at the happy faces, but instead, looked at Jack again.

"Have you seen Hans lately?"

Jack focused on Kreuk's words instead of the burn. _Hans. Blondie. Shed_. "No, Sir, I haven't."

"Are you certain? My men have last seen him with you."

"We were burying the kid in the woods together. That's the last I've seen of him."

Kreuk sat back down on the wooden chair and took a sip from the whiskey glass, grimacing as he downed the drink, then looked at Jack. He'd obviously reached a verdict, but Jack couldn't read him.

"I have merchandise needing to be shipped within the hour. Help the men load the truck. Leave."

"Yes, Sir."

"Now."


	9. A Dear Enemy

**A/N: **Enjoy the next chapter and let me know if you do! ;-)

* * *

The men Jack had joined kind of looked like clones of one another. Inconspicuous, cream-colored industrial overalls, heavy boots and sidearms in belt holsters, short brown hair, wide hips and lazy movements. They were hauling heavy bags from an underground hatch and loading them onto a truck that was idling on the lawn to their right. Jack had a feeling about the bags, but avoided jumping to conclusions. It could be anything from sawdust to crystal meth and he wouldn't know until he literally got his hands on it. His arm stung again, reminding him of the importance of the chain of command outside CTU, and he scratched the bandage he'd wrapped around the wound before he stopped himself. He couldn't totally ignore the pain, but he'd been there before. Such things tended to drift off into a deeper level of consciousness when adrenaline kicked in. He lifted a bag from the pile of about twenty and directed himself to a staircase wide enough to allow two-way traffic. A guy with a notepad took count of each bag and scribbled something down when Jack passed him by.

The work didn't demand concentration; even these low-lives had enough brain to carry bags and chat at the same time. Jack, an unknown variable to them, was free to eavesdrop, and he did that with a passion.

"So, we get that guy?" a clone asked another.

"Yeah. And his wife."

_Tony and Michelle? _

"They here yet?"

"On their way. A couple hours, we'll know if the damned program works."

_Didn't the chopper crash?_

"Wouldn't take so long if they were flying."

_They had a Plan B._

The men delivered their bags to yet another clone waiting in the cargo area of the truck. As if facing a _persona non grata_, they fell silent when Jack came up behind them. He cursed inwardly; he was hungry for answers, but every time he reached for one, it moved further away.

Choose your battles, they say. Jack normally fought them all, but this time he picked a question that he could find an answer to. When he next grabbed a bag, he made sure the notepad guy was watching. He did a clumsy job and "accidentally" let the bag drop to the floor.

"Hey, that's goddamn coke you're tossing around!" the guy yelled.

"Sorry. Won't happen again."

--

Only two more bags left. Finally. The injured arm really hadn't helped with the current task. _About time to finish up here_. Jack lifted a bag and set it on his shoulder. As he pushed himself forward, a feeling like that of tiny ants marching on his skin began at his neck and continued down his right shoulder and arm. He took the stairs, wanting to ignore it. But what came next hit him like a baseball bat.

It started as fresh sweat. Cold sweat. While it bathed his skin, his heart began to jump rope. He forced himself up one step, but his buckling knees made him stop. The burn set itself aflame again and the cut in his scalp pulsated like a second heart was beating there. His sight went blurry and he suddenly felt dizzy. The bag weighed a ton; his arms shook under its weight. He felt about to faint. His knees were pudding.

_The wall. There's a wall. _He took a guess to which side. It was there, it supported him. But more sweat broke out and the dizziness turned into vertigo. The powder kept flowing and his whole body shook. He leaned completely against the wall.

The heat in his arm bordered on unbearable, like the cigar was still there. He could smell the scorched skin. _Stop! Stop! _He wasn't sure if he'd said the words out loud of just thought them. His body knew what would help. _Just a shot. _

He wanted to scream but nothing came out. A dark tunnel opened up and he was falling right down it_._ _Just a little. Only to kill the pain. _

There was no wall. There was no bag. Just the fire.

_Just a shot... _

_No, quitting was hell!_

_Just once._

A hard slap on the back of his head shocked him. Through a haze, he heard a voice, unable to recognize the speaker or understand the words. It could have been Greek, for all he knew. He thought he was looking at the person but didn't see them. He couldn't move. He couldn't react in any way. In a war, he would have been dead.

Someone slapped his cheek this time. The fresh hot feeling helped to lift the fog a little.

"Move it, Keagan! The hell you waiting for?"

_Who's Keagan?_

"Don't make me tell you again!"

Jack shut his eyes tightly, opened them, shut them, opened them, buying some time to clear his vision,. _Keagan... Me._

Slowly, he began to recall where he was, what he was doing, what he was supposed to be doing. _The notepad guy. Must be the notepad guy. _He became aware of the weight on his shoulder and noticed that he'd squeezed the bag between himself and the wall.

_Just a shot! _

_No! Get me out of here!_

When he next looked at the notepad guy he finally saw him. The man was standing one step higher on the staircase. He lifted a hand, ready to slap Jack again. "Need more?"

Though he wasn't sure, Jack thought he'd shaken his head. Maybe he had, because the third slap never came. He knew he was supposed to verbally answer, but finding words was hard. His tongue felt stiff and thick; he couldn't move it but he tried. He fought the numbness for some time. What came out eventually wasn't worth putting down in writing.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I got lightheaded."

The notepad guy scowled, rolling his eyes, "You okay now? Move it. Last bag."

Jack's body still seemed to be screaming, but his mind was clearing. His feet felt heavy, like steel balls were fastened to his ankles. The staircase was a mountain. Commanding his brain, he set the bag securely on his shoulder, and forced his legs to move, despite the ongoing trembling in them. He tried to ignore the stream of cocaine still caressing his skin, set one foot down in front of the other, and focused on that. He was in control. The pain hadn't lessened, but he wouldn't give in. _Rather die than go through that again_...

He cursed the day he'd decided to inject heroin to develop a case. It had seemed then that the results would be worth going through the hell of both addiction and withdrawal. But what good had it been? The Salazars were dead, they'd never been held accountable for their actions, and _no-one_ was ever an _ex_-junkie. It was dawning on him that his willpower alone would forever be the only thing standing between him and a new round of the rollercoaster ride. Maybe Erin had been right to fire him, after all. It _was _a weakness.

He would never know how he'd made it up the stairs and to the truck, but he did. He surrendered the bag to the clone there, and thanked God it was over. He didn't look back as he went to the hideout to wash off all traces of the cocaine before he got tempted to lick the cocaine off his skin.

--

"We're here," the driver announced, glancing at Tony's reflection in the mirror for the first time since Tony woke up.

Instead of looking back at him, Tony stole a glance at Michelle. She was still out. He sighed, pushing himself up in the wet seat. They'd left the highway a while ago, and seemed to be driving through a grass field now, on an unpaved road, judging by the bumps the cruiser bounced on. The last marker Tony had seen on the highway had told him they were close to Santa Rosa. _Jack_, it shot through his head when he saw the sign. Having faked his death, the only thing that Jack was supposed to do was find a job and lie low. For security, the only one who would stay in touch with him was Chloe. That's all Tony knew.

How smart had that been?

Ahead, a flat building came into view. Dark and apparently windowless, almost invisible in the lightless surroundings, it seemed perfectly suited for clandestine operations. Or for making people disappear. Not letting that last thought throw him off, Tony tried to spot some surveillance. There had to be something, some small, fancy cameras that went to infrared thermal imaging at night, keeping the area under watch at all times. At least, that's what he'd do, if he were hiding out in the woods kidnapping people.

The cruiser came to a stop right by the house.

_Game on._

The headlights stayed on, and the driver walked in their milky path to the front door, pounded at it three times, then seemed to be pushing some buttons, like entering a code into a number panel, and waited. When the hideout opened its jaws, a mighty searchlight flooded thirty yards of land with light. The other guy yanked Michelle's door open and pushed his hands in her armpits. Tony wanted to yell at him to take it easy, but only useless noise came out from underneath the duct tape over his mouth. She was hauled out of the car, lifted up like a bag of potatoes, and carried inside.

The driver opened Tony's door. "Out with you."

_Go to Hell_, Tony thought to himself and refused to obey.

"Get out, bastard!" This time, the thug kicked Tony's right calf.

Tony sat deeper into the seat, the look on his face defiant. _Go get someone with half a brain_.

Then the thug pulled a firearm and pointed it to Tony's feet. "Three."

_Fine_.

"Two."

Tony's right leg touched the ground first, then his left. The idiot pulled him out of the car and shoved him forward.

--

The steel door closed behind them with a heavy clang, adding a distinct prison sound to the general idea of imprisonment. Tony looked around what he saw of the compound as they walked in. It was sort of what he'd expected. A kind of a former warehouse with lots of thugs and computers. No-one he managed to catch a glimpse of seemed to be in charge of the crowd, but Tony guessed he'd be meeting them before long.

When he was brought into the room, Michelle was sitting on the floor and had come to. Her hands were free, the duct tape gone from her mouth. She was examining her injured ankle. He stood patiently while the plastic cuffs were cut from his wrists. Then he was pushed inside, and yet another door was slammed shut.

As soon as it did, Tony tried to rip the duct tape from his face, but found that his hands were useless at the moment. "Tony," Michelle smiled as she gingerly stood, and he met her mid-way. She peeled the duct-tape off his mouth, then fell into his arms, whispering his name again. He breathed hers while hugging her, the closeness of her body already warming him up. He stood there with her for a couple of minutes, waiting for the millions of needles in his hands to go away.

"You ok?" he then asked.

She nodded. "You?"

"I'm fine."

She breathed in deeply, pulled back a little and found his eyes. "I, I was afraid they'd shot you... I thought you were dead. I didn't know how long I've been here, he wouldn't speak to me, he wouldn't tell me anything, he wouldn't answer any questions. I didn't see you when I woke up and when he -"

"Hey, hey, hey," Tony cooed, cupping her face to interrupt the waterfall of her words. It worked. "I'm _fine_," he insisted, smiling boyishly. "I've been with you the whole time. Nothing happened except we got brought here. I woke up in transport a while back but you were out since they grabbed you."

He watched relief wash over her face. "They didn't hurt you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. You?"

Michelle glanced to her left for a moment, then said, "No."

Tony sighed and pulled her into a hug.

--

Jack washed his face and dried himself off with a cloth. He wrapped the cloth around his right hand and tugged at it until it hurt. He was nothing if not furious at himself. Furious at having a weakness. Furious because he'd lost control, no matter for how short a time span. Furious because it could have cost him dearly. Furious because he still felt himself tremble at the thought of a shot.

He raised his eyes to glance at the cracked mirror above the sink. He despised what he saw there. Not a determined fighter but the distraught face of a junkie was looking back at him. He yelled and drove his wrapped fist into the mirror, shattering the glass into dozens of pieces. Even before all shards touched the floor, he spun around, pulling the Smith & Wesson from his waistband and pointing it at the door. Adrenaline shot up. The weapon made him focus. He was in control. He was a warrior. He had a job to do.

He spent a full minute in the combat crouch, ready to shoot. With each second, he felt himself return. The pain in the arm had faded into the background. Fire was back in his eyes. Eventually, he took a deep breath and replaced the weapon. The broken glass cracked under his shoes as he directed himself to HQ.

He was just pouring coffee to a plastic cup when Kreuk left his office, holding a cell phone to his ear. Jack took a sip of the hot brew, but watched Kreuk over the rim of the cup. He'd noticed a squad car parked just outside earlier and wondered if Kreuk's unimaginative thugs had used the same trick on Tony and Michelle as they had used on him. Recycling ideas wasn't unheard of. Even he did it sometimes.

Kreuk finished his phone call before stopping in front of a guarded room that was new to Jack. The thug entered a code, the door opened, and both men went in. Coffee in hand, Jack ambled towards the corridor, then leaned on a wall there, finding a good vantage point.

--

When four beeps at the door announced someone, Tony protectively stepped in front of Michelle. _Show time_.

Two men entered. The guy in the back was obviously just a thug and ignorable. The one in the front was different. Tony looked him over. Six foot six and over 200 pounds of arrogance had walked in. The long shadow cast by his body briefly reached Tony's feet before the door closed and shut out the light from the corridor. The Guy In Charge wore a fine designer suit, the kind that a government salary didn't pay for, and Tony knew he would hardly be able to afford even after running a successful private business for a few years.

"Good evening," he began. His voice struck Tony as squeaky and made his neck skin crawl. "My name is Bas Kreuk. I am a Dutch businessman without time for prolonged discussions. Time is money, as you Americans say. And this is especially true tonight."

Michelle's hands touched Tony's back and she dug her fingers to the back of his trousers. He set his feet apart a bit more, to have more stability.

"Thus, I will make our introduction brief," Kreuk announced. The guy had something of an evil clown from a horror movie. His small, girly nose, rather fine facial features and full, round lips looked almost grotesque compared to his imposing size.

"I require your services, Mr. Almeida, and I am willing to compensate you for them."

Tony scoffed. "You want my help, so you kidnap us? Where I come from, people sign contracts."

"I regret this, indeed," Kreuk said as if he believed his own words, "but I do sincerely doubt that you would have accompanied my men voluntarily." He checked his watch. "So? Can I expect co-operation from you, Mr. Almeida?"

Tony couldn't determine the color of Kreuk's eyes; it could have been a gray, cold as a grave. He worked his chin, brought his hands to his hips. "Even if I were to consider it for a _second_, I don't know what it is you want me to do."

Kreuks lips cracked an awkward smile. "You will find out everything after we agree."

"It doesn't work that way."

"I would be prepared to pay you twenty thousand dollars for your services," Kreuk offered.

Tony let out a laugh. "You can buy me Las Vegas _and _Paris. I'm not interested."

At this, Kreuk simply turned around and left the room, leaving Tony a little perplexed. The Crook Cook-book said that this was the time to push harder, not to walk away. Unless... Goose bumps possessed Tony's whole body at the thought. But when the door closed, he ignored them and turned in Michelle's arms, pulling her into an embrace.

"Tony, what are we going to do?" she whispered lowly.

"All we can do for now is wait," he replied, guessing that they wouldn't have to wait long. He kissed her forehead but then had to ask, "Sweetheart, how's your leg?"

"It's not so bad."

She was lying. Even if it wasn't infected, a few hours from now, playing tough wouldn't come that easily. "We gotta get it cleaned," he said.

"I had a tetanus shot last month," she smiled, "it'll be okay."

At that moment, the four beeps at the door sounded again. Tony frowned. _Already? _He resumed his protective position in front of Michelle. Kreuk was back, but he wasn't alone. A bearded, yellow-shirted man hopped behind him, leaning on a long, thick branch that he used as a cane. Despite the beard, Tony's brain needed just a split second to recognize the face of the top man on his hate list.

"YOU!" he shouted, launching himself at Robin Wilson.

He grabbed him, slammed him into the wall, punched his face, grabbed his shirt at his shoulders, bent him down, kneed him in the stomach and just kept going. "You goddamned piece of stale shit!" Tony yelled, blind with fury. "Once wasn't enough, was it! You keep coming back, like weeds!"

Tony had just drawn blood from Robin's nose when electric current hit his shoulder blade, cutting his eruption short. Michelle screamed, "No!" just before Tony's knees gave in and he slumped to the floor. _Son of a bitch... Not again._

"Mr. Almeida," Kreuk began and Tony moved his eyes towards the voice. Kreuk was standing behind Michelle, holding both her arms behind her back. "Like I mentioned, I require your services. And I am determined to acquire your cooperation by _any _means necessary."

_Don't hurt her! _Tony begged inwardly, but couldn't speak. He hated the taser. It was disabling. He knew from experience that the feeling would pass in a while, but right now, his nerves seemed to be wired in a wrong way; his body simply disobeyed him. He thought of Hammond and what happened there and wondered just how many more hits his heart could take before it gave up this time around.

"Just blink if you're listening," Kreuk said after a minute.

Tony did, despite himself. Slowly, feeling returned to his muscles. He tried to move his toes in his shoes. It worked.

"Now, Mr. Wilson, I would like for you to explain the necessary steps to Mr. Almeida."

"I told you he wouldn't do it for the money," Wilson said, crawling back up from the floor. He stood, keeping the weight off his injured leg. "She's the key to this."

"Don't you dare!" Tony said, turning, and willed his legs to close around Robin's ankles, like scissors. He hooked one foot behind Robin's knees and pushed. With one ankle already injured, Robin was easy prey and fell with a pain-filled yell. Tony was about to drag himself up, get on top of Wilson when Michelle screamed, chilling Tony's blood. He jumped up to his feet, facing her.

Kreuk had pinned Michelle against a wall and his one shoe rested on her injury. "I really am in a hurry, Mr. Almeida," he warned and lifted the front of his foot, ready to bring it down again. "Do I have your attention?"

"Yes," Tony said lowly. "Yes, you do."

"Good." Kreuk let go of Michelle and glanced at Robin again. "Mr. Wilson."

Michelle stepped away from the wall, but leaned on a palm, taking the weight off the injured leg.

This time around, Robin didn't attempt to stand up. He just pulled himself to a sitting position. "I need you to help me rewrite the code in that ingenious software of yours. I've been trying to do something for hours but it isn't working right."

"Well, I designed it to protect it from idiots like yourself."

"You'll fix it for us, won't you?" Robin glanced at Michelle. "I mean, you committed treason for her."

_Go to hell._

"This one will be easy, right?"

Michelle stepped closer. "Honey, don't do this! Don't let them -"

Kreuk backhanded her.

"Stop!" Tony yelled.

"Honey, don't!"

Another slap.

"Stop!"

"Tony!"

Slap.

Tony knew what she meant. Not _again_. But he couldn't stand this. "Fine!" he shouted. "Fine, I'll fix the code for you, under one condition."

"She's not walking, forget it," Robin said, as if this was his game, "She's too valuable."

Tony ignored him and turned to Kreuk. "All I'm asking is for someone to clean that injury in her leg. It needs treatment. Please." He paused a second. "Please."

Kreuk's reply came quickly. "Very well. I can arrange that."

"Thanks," Tony nodded.

Kreuk walked past Tony, and led his men out. Tony hung his head. He found a speck of dirt on the floor and stared at it. _Why couldn't he just have killed me instead? _He didn't dare raise his eyes to look at Michelle, not even when they were alone again, not even when he heard her move away from the wall. He heaved a sigh. As he did, Michelle's hands touched his shoulder blades. He allowed her to softly turn him towards her, although he kept staring at the ground. She hugged him, leading her hands up to the back of his head. He shut his eyes.

--

When the beeps at the door sounded, Tony jumped up, fists clenched. No matter how much he wanted to beat Robin to a pulp, he'd have to restrain himself. For now.

A man stood in the doorway, but it wasn't Robin. It wasn't Kreuk, either. The man with the sandy hair and a bag in his hand was the object of Tony's many questions. Tony glared at Jack Bauer with eyes wide open. How long had it been?

"The less you talk, the better," Jack said by way of an introduction. Back in the CTU days, Tony might have translated this as, _Shut up. D__on't blow my cover_. But why would Jack be undercover? Jack first lifted a corner of his jacket to show off his firearm, and then took two steps inside.

_What the hell are you doing, Jack?_ _You need a weapon to keep us in check? _He tried to read his eyes but couldn't.

Jack stopped right in front of Tony, glaring at him. "Move."

"Who are you?"

"Call me Ray," Jack replied.

_Ray. Keagan. His new identity..._ Tony suddenly realized just how obvious his shock at seeing Jack must have been, and not only to Jack. He caught himself, scowled, attempting to look irritated, like he would have been with any other member of Kreuk's crew.

"Listen up," Jack grunted, "I'm just here to fix your lady. If you got a problem with it, I can leave, I got better things to do."

Tony nodded, but didn't move out of Jack's way. _I got to find out how he fits in here_.

"You gonna move?"

Another man appeared by the door, peering inside. Tony scolded himself for delaying things and finally stepped aside. Jack crouched in front of Michelle, his back turned to the door. When their eyes met, Jack's lips thinned into a smile that vanished as quickly as it had come.

--

Tony watched the door close behind Jack and sighed softly. But instead of pondering on Jack's mystical role here, he decided to focus on something tangible. Michelle.

"How're you doing, Sweetheart?"

Michelle stuck a finger underneath the bandage on her ankle.

"Honey, what are you doing?"

"It's Jack," she whispered.

"I know."

"No, I mean, this - it's _from _Jack." She had dug out a small, folded piece of paper.

"What?"

She still held the paper up in the air like a trophy. Tony listened at the door. It was quiet.

"Unfold it. Hurry," he urged her and joined her again.

The paper slip was tiny, only a couple of inches long, torn from a newspaper, by the looks of it. In Jack's sloppy handwriting, there were two series of letters.

"Ls Nvs," Michelle read, spelling each letter. "L-S N-V-S? What does that mean?"

"I dunno," Tony sighed, "but gibberish would hardly be worth hiding. L.S. N.V.S..."

Michelle stuck the paper into a back pocket of her muddy jeans.

Tony was still mumbling to himself. "Los NVS, Les Nevis..."

"Las Neves..." Michelle offered.

"Las Nieves," they both suddenly said at the same time.

"The town down in Mexico." Michelle continued, "Where Jack was when we were chasing Amador. When he went in with the Salazars for the second time."

Tony nodded, "Which means he's undercover here with this Kreuk character. God knows why, but he's undercover." _You've got to be crazy, Jack. But thank you. You've eased my mind._

"Do you think he might be able to help us?"

"Hopefully."

Beeps at the door prevented Tony from asking Michelle not to get too excited, for her own good. They were still a long way from free, even with Jack on the inside.

Kreuk and Wilson, with his improvised walking stick, stood outside the room, not even stepping in. Tony saw shadows of at least two other men out in the corridor; he guessed they weren't selling popcorn.

"It's time," Kreuk said briefly.

Tony glanced at Michelle, hesitating. When he finally gave himself a push, he crossed the room slowly, like a dead man walking. At the door, one of the thugs grabbed him, pushing him forward with a "Move!"

In the HQ, Tony saw Jack, standing around, a plastic cup in hand. _Do something, Jack. Before I commit another crime out of love_... _Or out of weakness? _

"Sit."

Tony squinted at the bright light coming from the 20'' monitor that showed a piece of familiar code.

"Here's what I need you to do." Robin began, while Kreuk walked away. "The point of this is to exploit the weaknesses of the system the software runs on, particularly, financial institutes. I've made some changes, but I need you to make them work."

"Why?" Tony looked at Robin scornfully. "Money? I thought you were a patriot. Isn't that why you got me fired? Cause I'm a traitor and you're such an exemplary American? And now you're turning against the very country that you've once taken an oath to protect? Is that what patriotism is to you, Robin, huh?"

"Who are you to talk to me about patriotism, you Spic bastard? I'm not attacking the country, I'm attacking _you_." He grinned like the devil that he was. "It's always been about you."

"Hell, I'm flattered," Tony mumbled.

"When this software starts to eat security and money from the firms we sell it to in _your _name, I'll be long gone. But you'll be here to watch the new life you've built get flushed down the toilet. Even if you manage to prove your innocence, the press will tear you and your company apart beforehand. I'll be watching closely from a distance," Robin finished, the grin on his face almost bizarrely wide.

"Right, so I'm supposed to help you destroy my life." _As if I hadn't hit rock bottom once before._ "Nice plan, congratulations. Didn't think you were this bitter."

"Get to work, Spic."

Tony tensed. "Stop calling me Spic, you asshole."

"You're feeling pretty confident, all of a sudden, Spic. What's changed?"

"What's changed? Except me having about a million more reasons to hate you than I had this morning?"

"Yeah."

"I dunno what you're talking about."

"You're stalling for time."

"Why would I?"

Robin grinned, then nodded. Then he walked away and found Kreuk. Tony turned in the chair and watched them, but couldn't hear a word they said; he didn't like it when Kreuk waved Jack over and all three of them returned.

"Now what?" Tony whispered to himself, leaning back in the chair, hands at his chest.

"Sir," Robin began, but paused to give Tony a look of the Olympic gold bearer. "There's a piece of history here that you should know about."

"What history?"

"Tony here is friends with the man you call Ray Keagan. Except Ray Keagan's real name is _Jack Bauer_."

Tony refused to look shocked, but knew that the last straw he was clutching on has just been burned.

Kreuk glanced at Jack, then at Tony. "How do you know this?"

"Almeida used to work for the Counter Terrorist Unit down in Los Angeles. He let a terrorist escape so that his little wifey would survive. Some would think that was a noble thing to do, but as a Fed, he had no right to make that choice. The courts agreed. He went to prison."

Kreuk rolled his eyes. "You have told me that before."

"Yes, Sir. But please, give me a minute." He snuffled. "When I got fired - I still think it was undeserved - I had nothing better to do than to start digging. I looked into what I could get about his trial." He included a theatrical break, locking eyes with Tony, who had only contempt for Robin. "The records mention an Agent _Jack Bauer_. He was a witness, a former colleague of Almeida's at CTU, and the strongest defender of his actions. They were friends."

Jack looked ready to twist Robin's neck, after torturing him for a long time. Where had he gone wrong? What had given him away?

"Today, as Ray Keagan here came down on me like a fury, his only reason for being pissed off was that I'd involved Tony in this." He paused to glance at Jack, who sent him a 'you're a dead man' promise through his eyes. Wilson took a step towards him and flipped his index finger at Jack.

"That was your first mistake: it was clear to me you two had a past. And the way you were acting, you told me you're a trained interrogator, and I'm guessing you're former Army or Navy." Wilson snuffled before landing the slam dunk. "The third mistake..." and he gestured towards Jack, "That tattoo on your forearm. It took me a while to figure it out, but I remembered. Our Lady of Guadalupe, that's a Mexican thing. And I'm sorry, but Ray - or Jack - you don't look very Mexican to me. So I'm guessing the tattoo has to do with some undercover job." Finally, he turned towards his current boss. "And Mr. Kreuk, if he was an undercover agent once, what are the chances that he's _not _spying on you right now?"

Kreuk didn't move a muscle, but he was well known for his stoicism. "And I assume you have proof?"

"Not really, Sir. But it shouldn't be hard to find." He again looked at Jack. "I read the papers, Jack. There wasn't only a virus outbreak that day, was there? There was a story about a drug cartel down in Mexico, if I'm not totally wrong. CTU stood out as the day-saver and I'm sure you were part of that operation. Why don't you spare me the trouble of research and just tell me I'm right?"

Kreuk glared at Jack. "I have always known you were more than just a lumberjack."

Jack and Tony didn't dare look at each other. The wind they were up against had just turned into a full blown hurricane.

"Is this true?" Kreuk asked Jack.

Jack considered reminding Kreuk that it wasn't him who'd tried to get in with his people; Kreuk wanted him in. He could have tried to lie, but he didn't have the time. Three bangs at the front door cut everyone's breath short. Most of the men pulled their weapons. Kreuk pulled his but aimed it at Jack. Someone keyed in the code.

The face of the man who showed up at the door meant nothing to Tony.

To Jack, it was the hangman.

"It was Keagan," Blondie uttered from the door. "He knocked me out and locked me in the shed."


	10. Digging For Answers

_**A/N: **Sorry about the long wait... While I enjoy writing for you, the 24-addiction is long gone, so this is really only happening because of you, the readers. I don't want to leave it undone ;-). I may not be perfectly happy with this chapter, but I hope you'll enjoy it nevertheless. It contains an interrogation, but it's not gory. Drop me a line of review._

* * *

The small red light on the surveillance camera directly above Tony blinked impatiently. While the device swayed from side to side every so often, Tony remained standing under it, out of its sight, and hadn't moved except to put his hands into his pockets. ­The "cell" that he was forced to share with Robin while they worked on the software was just ten feet across, and a table and two chairs held half of that space. As soon as they were alone, Robin eagerly pushed himself between the chairs, switched on the laptop and waited for it to come to life.

Tony watched him. The bastard was acting like nothing happened, though Jack had been sentenced to death, and Michelle pulled into something she had nothing to do with. Tony felt his stomach start to roar at the thought of the crime he was about to commit. He gave a loud sigh, then muttered under his breath,

"You know I ought to kill you right now."

Robin briefly left the laptop alone and turned to Tony. "You know," he paused to snuffle, "you don't help me fix this code, you won't have to. We'll all die."

Tony scoffed, working his chin. _Maybe, but I want the pleasure_. He folded his arms at his chest, just so that he could hold on to something instead of launching himself at Robin again.

"You seriously expect me to give a damn about what happens to you? "

Robin straightened up, and held his own elbows. "You should," he said, "Because - as of now - I'm your only ticket out of here."

Tony's brown ireses almost disappeared behind his narrowed eyelids. "Bastard."

Robin snuffled again, then drew a chair between Tony and himself and leaned his palms on its back. "Look, I didn't want to do this, but you pushed me. I mean, you saw an ally and you thought that you could... I don't know what the fuck you thought, but the point is, without Jack, you're screwed."

"Ya think?"

Wilson laughed. "Oh, I know you're a Marine. First Lieutenant, congratulations. Now I know you're gonna want to escape, but there's no way you're getting both yourself and Michelle out, alive... You're alone. And you can't pull rank in here. Now, you know I'm an ex military man myself -"

"You're ex _Air Force_, Wilson. You see any fighter planes lyin' 'round here?" He stepped away from the wall. "Besides, how much combat have you seen?"

"I served long enough -"

"How much _combat _have you seen?" Tony repeated louder.

Wilson just snuffled.

"Thought so..." Tony whispered. He then stepped a little closer to Robin. "How long did you serve? Six years? Seven? Something's tellin' me you weren't the promotion board's favorite boy."

"Watch it, Almeida."

"Why?" Tony glanced at the camera. "You afraid someone's gonna find out why you really got discharged?

"You're bluffing."

"You sure?" Tony smirked. "You're not the only one who's done the digging, Wilson. NCO? Injury? _Honorable _discharge? It's all B/S and you know it."

Wilson grinned. "You just screwed up, Almeida. I _was _an NCO. Staff Sergeant."

Tony held Wilson's stare. "Yeah... For about a week before you got demoted..."

"Shut up."

"_Two _pay grades."

"Shut up, Spic!" Robin pushed away the chair, which hit the wall with a clang, and at the same time he leaped towards Tony, leading with his fists. Tony readied himself to catch him and K.O. him. Wilson was almost close enough when he suddenly stopped himself and remained standing as if frozen in time. The knuckles on his still clenched fists were white. The veins in his forehead pulsated visibly, both sides of his neck looked incredibly strained - but that was it. He didn't come any closer.

"No..." he whispered, and glanced at the camera. "No, I'm not gonna fall for it... You want me to attack you first. I won't do it."

Tony just smirked.

Robin took a step back, then stuck a finger to Tony's face. "You can bitch all you want, Almeida, but fact is: I _am_ your only chance."

_And you think I'm yours_, Tony thought to himself. _Which is what this is all about._

Robin walked away and klicked on a couple of icons on the laptop. Then he turned to Tony again. "Look... I don't want to die here any more than you do."

_That's probably the first honest thing you've said today._

"So _yes_, I'll do my best to help you two get out, but only if you fix the code. So why don't you stop resisting me and get to work?"

Tony took a few seconds to breathe out, slowly, trying to control every air molecule that left his nose, and thereby, control himself. It helped.

Then he gave himself a push. Though Robin took a step to the side, Tony brushed his shoulder with his own as he walked by. He pulled the second chair away from the table, as if about to sit down, but remained standing, digging his fingertips into the back of it. He raised his head, and set sights on Robin like he did back in sniper school.

"If Jack dies..."

A quick spark of concern flickered in Robin's eyes.

"Or if anything else happens to Michelle... I swear to you on my mother's grave, Wilson... I _will _kill you."

--

Randy was Kreuk's Hercules, and Ed something like his kid brother; the kind of guys who beat you up first and asked questions later, which was probably why it was the two of them pulling Jack down a corridor right now. Their arms were twelve inch concrete pillars, unbreakable and unmovable. They'd thwarted every Jack's attempt to come free, and he gave up after the third time. He hung between them by his shoulders, not needing to walk at all. They effortlessly dragged him along, as if he were a sledge in the snow. They wore combat boots which marched in unison. The majority of Kreuk's men seemed to be civilian criminals. None of them wore military boots. Jack guessed that Ed and Randy might be different. Mercenaries, possibly. Fanatics? Former security personnel gone rogue? Or maybe it was simpler than that. They could have been wannabes. But before he could decide, they stopped. He grabbed the opportunity and instantly found his footing. Ed unlocked the door, then they shoved Jack inside. As soon as Jack's arms were free, he spun and attacked.

He gift-wrapped a headache for Ed, elbowing the guy's brain into a break-dance inside the skull. Ed staggered backwards just a little, and Jack kneed him in the crotch full force, grabbed his arm and reached for his shoulder, sliding his hand behind Ed's head. Ed tried to punch Jack's genitals and kick his calves at the same time, but Jack, shorter and probably better trained, avoided the attack and pulled Ed forward, taking him down.

Ed wasn't quite on the ground yet when something stabbed Jack's side like a harpoon. Current short-circuited his body like a bolt of lightning, making him let go of Ed and collapse into a momentary darkness. The dark veil refused to go away completely even when the buzzing of electricity announced neon lights coming on above him. It was the rich click of a loaded weapon that made Jack force his eyes open. The barrel of a Smith & Wesson stared him in the face, too close for his eyes to focus on it, so he looked past it and towards the ceiling. A meaty black spider lured in its web, and Jack allowed his eyes to find their focus by finding the spider's legs. The weapon waved a hello, calling his attention, so Jack finally ignored the spider and looked at Randy's ugly face.

"No matter what ya do, Bauer, you a dead man," Randy said behind the firearm. "But if ya make me start shootin' atcha now, I ain't gonna shoot to kill. Ya feel me?"

Jack's injured arm had started to burn again, like the stun gun had awakened the nerves. Unwilling to let it show, he turned his head to the side. Two electrodes were still stuck between his ribs, and two thin wires, one yellow, one red, led to the stun gun that lay on the floor, a few feet away.

Randy brought a boot to Jack's cheek and pressed down. "Ya feel me, man?"

Obeying the pressure, Jack twisted his upper body to the side, managing to slightly relax the strain on his neck. He tried to let out a 'yeah". It came out more like a Mhhh, but satisfied the gunman nevertheless.

"Cool." Randy stepped off Jack's face. "Don't move."

Randy plucked the electrodes out of Jack. While he coiled the cable around the stun gun, Ed took his place by Jack's side. Like a soccer player carrying out a penalty shot, Ed buried his right boot in Jack's stomach. It was a cannonball, shooting all air out of Jack. He grabbed his stomach in pain, but couldn't even cough. He was still fighting not to pass out when he felt someone grab his arms and pull them up. He didn't resist.

Ed dragged him past a bath tub, towards a wall. In another corner was a square area with blue tiles, above which hung a naked showerhead. The stale smell of humidity tickled Jack's nose. There were no windows; whatever vapor was created probably hung in the air forever, eventually getting absorbed by the walls, but there was no mold - yet. When Ed came to a stop, it was between two circular metal hooks which protruded from between the tiles, and each had its own pair of handcuffs attached to them. He dropped Jack's arms to the ground, spread them to the side, and fastened the cuffs around his wrists.

Jack felt like nothing but sleeping, but this would hardly be the time. He perceived the calming sound of water flowing nearby. He glanced in the direction of the sound, where Randy stood and watched the jet of water filling the tub. Jack closed his eyes again, wanting to catapult himself into the orbit. _Damned newspapers_, he mused. _Giving ideas to wanna-be interrogators, they all wanna try it out now. But if we did this to a terrorist at CTU, the media would tear us apart._ The rotten cherry on top was Blondie showing up at the door, with a large green plastic bucket hanging from his hand. _Damn it. Bad karma_.

By the door, Blondie took some time to give Jack a scrutinizing glance. Jack stared back at him without blinking. Blondie eventually grinned maliciously, and stepped in. He threw the bucket to Ed, then fished a see-through plastic bag, the kind that's used for freezing food, from a jeans pocket. He played with it, approaching Jack.

"Well, Ray... I heard you changed your name to Jack, is that right?"

Jack slowly drew his legs up, pulling his knees together, closing the gap between them for protection.

"My name is Jack Bauer," he said, slightly pulling at the cuffs, as if trying to sit up to talk to Blondie. The hooks were stable. Jack let no frustration show. "But I'm not an undercover agent. Not any more."

"Well, you sure got uncovered, buddy," Randy commented.

Jack ignored him and insisted, "I wasn't looking for Kreuk, I wasn't spying on him. I got caught up in this."

"It looked quite deliberate to me when that shovel came flying to my head," Blondie said with a smug look on his face. "I hope you don't believe I forgot that."

Jack shook his head and muttered to himself, "I'd be a fool to believe anything."

"Only the fools die young," Blondie said through a grin. Randy and Ed burst out in laughter.

_Funny, Blondie. Very funny_, Jack thought but didn't comment.

Blondie then unfolded the plastic bag and stretched it between his hands like a piece of plastic wrap. "I have a few questions from the Boss, Jack. The faster you answer them, the quicker this ends."

Jack just breathed. Through his mouth. In and out. In and out. Deeply but quietly.

"Do it," Blondie said towards Ed, who dipped the bucket into the water. Blondie kneeled down behind Jack.

_Here we go... _Jack wanted another deep breath but Blondie cut it short with the plastic bag, which he pressed firmly against Jack's face. Ed stepped closer, bucket in hand. Single cool drops rained down on Jack's chest. He lay still, knowing that he couldn't waste energy or air on anything. He sent himself back to the Special Ops days, to the SERE camp, the training in Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape - where he'd learned techniques that he had put to good use over the years; they were part of the reason he was still alive. Back then, when it was his turn to put himself through waterboarding in training, someone promised him, 'You'll never forget this'. And it was true. The mental side of it had forever burned itself into his brain. Now, a couple of decades and many interrogations later, it was time to dig it all up, and survive again. He told himself that he would, but the realistic likelihood of that fully depended on Blondie & co.

Finally, with satisfaction on his face, Ed tipped the bucket. The splash punched Jack's face like an icy rock. The shock contracted his muscles, closing off his throat. _Easy, Jack, this is normal_, he reminded himself. _Stay in control_. The water beat his face without mercy, soaking his hair, drenching his clothes and pooling under him. He had to regain control of his body. He somehow willed his muscles to relax and forced his throat to open. As he did, he sucked in the plastic, almost gagging on it. _The gag reflex, don't freak out_. _Stay in control_. He tried to open his eyes to look at the bucket, hoping it would soon be empty. Yet the plastic was firm against his eyelids and he couldn't move them. _Got to spit out the bag if you don't want to choke on it._ He tried. It remained where it was. He waited for the water to stop. It didn't. _How good is your lung capacity, Jack? Let's see._

--

Michelle stared at Jack's scribbled note as if it was the magical key to her cell. When her leg told her to sit down, she did, choosing the spot the furthest away from the door. The cut began to itch, and she was scratching the bandage around it when she heard footsteps outside the room. Just before beeps at the door sounded, she shoved the paper slip back into her jeans. She'd forced herself to stand by the time yet another new guy peered in.

He immediately asked, "Everything ok?"

His tone betrayed that the question had been duty, not concern. Michelle gave him a defiant stare. "I couldn't be better."

"Leg ok?"

"Oh, I can check if it still works if you come closer."

He smirked. "Right."

He stood in the door, glaring at her like a vulture, with one hand resting on his belt buckle, and the other one behind him. Then, as if he'd changed his mind, he threw Michelle a bottle of water he'd been hiding. "Here."

She caught it, but didn't thank him.

He scratched his crotch and was about to pull the door closed, when Michelle called after him, "Wait! Where's Tony? Is he okay?"

He glanced to the left and right in the hallway before stepping inside. He approached her, licking his lips like a hungry dog drooling at food. "You know..." he licked his lips again, three feet away from her, "With an ass like yours... I'd be worrying about myself."

He reached over to her, but Michelle slapped his arm, pushing it down and away. "Don't touch me," she told him, moved three feet away from the wall to create some distance, and stretched her arms protectively in front of her, palms to the man.

"Okay," he agreed, nodding, but then suddenly grabbed the bottle of water from her hand. "This comes with me."

"Eric, what are you doing?" another male voice asked from outside the door.

Eric turned to him, "Oh... Marco..." He smiled. "I was just bringing a bottle of water to her. I was just about to leave."

"Good, then leave," Marco said, "And give her the water."

Eric wordlessly obeyed and left the room. Once he and Michelle were alone, Marco gave her a tentative smile. "How are you doing, Miss?"

Michelle had doubt in her eyes, but the tension in her posture visibly decreased. "I'd be better if I were at home in my bed now," she replied, "But I'm okay."

"I'm sorry about all this."

Michelle leaned on the wall again and yawned.

"Did Eric make a move on you?"

"He tried." Her smile widened a little, "But I've seen worse."

Marco nodded knowingly, and glanced behind him for a moment, before confidentially offering, "Look, if you need anything, call for me. Marco."

Michelle slowly lowered herself down to the floor. She couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "All I need, Marco, is to get out of here. With Tony. Can you do that for us?"

He glanced up and down the corridor, then locked eyes with Michelle for a few long seconds. "No, unfortunately, I can't do that now."

Though he'd only whispered the last word, Michelle had caught it. "Now? Wha-"

"I mean, I can't," he raised a palm at her, cutting her off. "Hang in there, Tony is okay."

Michelle nodded, perplexed, and Marco left the room.

--

Inwardly, Jack was screaming. Pressure threatened to pop his eyes out, and his chest seemed ready to implode. His carotis throbbed loudly, like his heart was in his throat. He wanted to eat the damned bag so he could finally breathe. He thought he was only a fraction of a second away from suffocating when the water stopped beating his face and the bag came off. His mind knew that he shouldn't show them any weakness, but the reflex and the will to live were quicker. Hungrily, like there wasn't enough oxygen to go around, he gasped for air, breaking the chains. He blinked almost uncontrollably, like he was struggling against himself to stay conscious.

He suddenly felt awkwardly grateful to his torturers; they'd let him live.

After about a minute, Blondie tapped Jack's cheeks. "Jack. Jack, I need some answers here."

Jack now became aware of the freezing wetness all around him, and noticed he was shivering, from the cold, from the adrenaline, maybe from the panic that he couldn't totally control. He couldn't have been colder if he was lying naked in the snow. When Blondie hit his cheeks, he forced his eyes to stay open. _What?_

"Jack. Are you a government agent?"

Jack lowly croaked, "No."

"Do you work for the government?"

"The government thinks I'm dead," Jack admitted.

"Really?" Hans crouched next to Jack. "Why?"

_Damn it!_ Jack swore inwardly, wanting to slap himself. _Get a grip on yourself!_

"Jack? C'mon, man. Don't make me do this again."

Jack tried to make his body stop shivering, to regain control of his muscles, hoping to regain control of his brain. He thought about it for a moment. Yes, he made a mistake, but it hardly made any difference now. If he died, who'd care? Then he'd really be dead. And if he survived, he'd just have to minimize damage and kill Blondie & co first. So he told them.

"Ray Keagan was my cover. I faked my death. I disappeared."

"And why would you do that?"

"Some very bad people wanted me killed."

"I see." Blondie glanced at Ed and Randy. Their faces were empty. They just waited for orders. Hans turned back. "Who, Jack? Tell me."

_You wouldn't believe me_. Jack shut his eyes tightly, and gave himself time to fill his lungs with air. When he next looked at Blondie, it was defiantly.

"There's nothing to tell."

Hans sighed and stood. "Just when I thought I was gettin' through to you."

He motioned for Ed and this time, stayed back, just watching Ed pour water over their victim. It came, angrier than before. Jack puckered his lips, trying to close off his nostrils, and angled away. Ed countered, constantly changing the angle, speed and the direction of the waterfall. It worked: despite Jack's attempts to keep it out, water found its way into his airwaves. It was impossible to breathe.

--

Bas Kreuk finally had some time to himself. Alone, behind the closed door of his office, he chewed on the last bite of the XL deluxe roast beef sandwich. He enjoyed these moments of peace, one of life's small pleasures. He drank some water from a crystal glass and then leaned in the chair. While slightly turning in it, left to right, right to left and back again, he glanced at his two iBooks. On one, he was tracking the truck delivery in real time, and there had been no irregularities thus far. On the other, a digital stopwatch was counting down to T0.

"93 minutes and counting," Kreuk noted to himself, with a satisfied smile on his face, "Then all my problems will be solved."

His eyes fell on the family photo on the desk. His three ladies prolonged his smile at first. But then he sighed and whispered, "All except one."

He took the wireless phone from its holder and called home. People said that the person on the other end of the line could tell if you were smiling or frowning, so he tried it. He put on a wide smile while waiting for the ring tone. The answer came promptly and Kreuk's voice came out soft.

"Hello, pumpkin," he said.

Danielle Kreuk glanced at the bedside alarm clock. It was 04:28 and she was sitting in her bed, fully dressed, three pillows behind her. Her features were half lost in the soft light coming from the small bedside lamp. When she heard her husband's voice, she took a long drag from the Camel she was smoking.

"Hi," she whispered into the phone receiver while exhaling. She closed her eyes, touching her forehead with the fingers that weren't busy holding the cigarette. "I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier, Bas..." she said, her voice calm and steady, "But you're not making this marriage easy, you know that, right?"

"I do," he admitted, making sure that the smile stayed on his face. "Look, Danee, I know I haven't been home much these days-"

"Try, 'these months'," she interjected and adjusted the collar of her creamy silk blouse, then pulled her warm, black robe back over her chest again.

"Okay, lately," Kreuk agreed and stood, beginning to slowly pace the room. "But I'm doing this for us," he cooed, picking up the family photo from the table and looking at the Sleeping Beauty Castle on the photograph.

"Oh, don't give me that," Danielle protested. She reached for a black glass ashtray that stood on the bedside table, between a red cell phone and two packs of Camels. She put out the cigarette in the middle of at least ten other butts. "That's the lamest excuse, Bas, and it's the most common one among cheaters."

Kreuk's smile faded. "It's not an excuse, pumpkin. It's the truth."

"Right." Her long blond ponytail hopped up as she threw her legs over the edge of the bed. She grabbed the top cigarette pack, which was almost empty, and lit another cigarette. She took a moment to blow the smoke high towards the ceiling. "You know what the best thing you could do _for us _is? Come home. _Be _home. With me, Jeannine, Maggie. That's what would be good for us, Bas."

"Pumpkin..."

She didn't allow him to interrupt. She pointed the cigarette away from her as if she were gesturing at Bas himself. "What's the point of having a father when you never see him? You keep going like this and Maggie won't even remember what you look like."

"Danee..."

"No, I mean it! You're missing their childhood. I'm already half expecting them to look at our wedding photo and ask me who that tall man next to me is."

"Danielle!" he shouted, drawing energy from a half crouching position, like a boxer delivering an uppercut from his hips. "You make sure that doesn't happen!" he added, a bit more calmly.

"Don't yell at me."

"I'm sorry." He clenched his free fist and mock-punched it into the wall in slow motion. "I didn't mean to."

She took another drag from the cigarette and said nothing.

"Look, I love you, and I adore the girls," Bas sat down in the chair. He tried to sound fragile. "Don't hurt me like that, pumpkin. I'll _be _there to watch them grow. Just give me some time to get this job done. Can you do that?"

"If only I knew just what it is you're doing," she commented, more to herself.

He poured himself a shot of whiskey. "You know I can't tell you that. It's classified."

"Right," She laughed out loud. "So, now you're with the CIA or something?" She rolled her eyes and leaned forward. "Look, it's none of my business if you don't want it to be. But if you're cheating on me, Bas, I will not tolerate it. I won't."

He gulped down the whiskey while she was talking, and now smiled again. "I would _never _cheat on you, pumpkin... See you tomorrow?"

"Bas, it _is _tomorrow."

He glanced at the countdown on the iBook. 87 minutes. "I have to go. Love you."

Danielle hung up.

--

Jack was coughing, spitting and vomiting water to the ground. He hated this feeling in his forehead. Water that had gone in through his nose was still where it wasn't supposed to be, giving him a headache. It was just like when he turned the wrong way in the pool when diving as a kid, and coming back up, half drowning.

Before he could completely recover, Blondie started to press for answers again. "Jack, who are the people who wanted you dead?"

Jack breathed out explosively through the nose, managing to get rid of some liquid.

"Bauer! What are you doing in Santa Rosa? Who are you hiding from?"

_Screw you. You already know more than you should._ Jack coughed again. He had to clear his airwaves now if he wanted to survive another drowning attempt.

Ed kicked Jack's side. "Jack, get a grip!"

The kick caught Jack off guard, but no rib cracked, so he tried not to acknowledge the pain.

"Bauer. Who wanted you dead?"

At that moment, Kreuk walked in. Blondie wordlessly let Kreuk through, and the boss took position to the left of Jack, away from his free legs.

"Has he given you anything?" Kreuk asked.

Blondie nodded, "He says that he doesn't work for the government any more, and that the reason he was posing as a logger is that some people from the government wanted him dead. Says he faked his death, so they would leave him alone, but he wouldn't say who they are."

Kreuk nodded, glanced at Ed and Randy and ordered, "Hold his legs."

Randy and Ed grabbed one leg each and sat on it, fixing it to the ground. Kreuk strode to Jack's middle. Heel slightly resting on the floor, he lowered the ball of his foot onto Jack's private parts, squashing them.

Jack refused to scream but the pain made him see stars.

"Who wanted you dead, Jack?"

The pressure grew, as did the pain, while Kreuk put more and more weight into the foot. Jack tensed all his muscles, gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, rattling the handcuffs.

"Who are you hiding from?"

Jack stopped breathing, holding his breath to avoid increasing the pain. He swore to himself he'd kill Kreuk if he survived this. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Kreuk took his foot off Jack's privates. He stared at Jack without a trace of sympathy, then walked away. Ed and Randy let go of Jack, and he reflexivelly pulled his legs up towards his stomach, but had to stretch them again. The pain was hell. He didn't even really hear Kreuk order Blondie to stop wasting time already and execute him.

--

While Tony was scrolling through the entire code yet again, trying to catch any pointless changes Robin might have made to it, another part of his mind couldn't stop rotating around something else. Michelle. His greatest love, and, ironically, his greatest weakness. A weekness so unscrupulously exploited by men like Saunders, Wilson and Kreuk. Men who seemingly stopped at nothing to achieve their goals. Tony hated giving in to anyone, but where his head might have been stronger, his heart was weak. He couldn't help it. It almost seemed like the only way to avoid getting targetted was not to love at all. To stay detached from everyone and anyone. It was like the only way to keep Michelle safe would be to leave her, stay away from her, break her heart in order to keep her alive.

Tony couldn't do that.

Jack could do that. Jack had done it. With Teri, Kim, Audrey, anyone. He could totally switch off his emotions when push came to shove, and do his job. Tony never necessarily strived to be more like Jack, but sometimes he did admire the trait. Except when it came to Michelle.

He stopped looking at the code for a moment. Was Jack even alive? Kreuk had ordered him interrogated and killed, Tony had heard that much. But he couldn't do anything about it. Jack was on his own. Would he really wind up dead? Normally, he could take care of himself. Tony hoped he still could.

Robin's millionth snuffle brought Tony's mind back around, and he started scrolling down again. Would Robin really help them get out if he got the chance? Would Michelle be okay? Or would Kreuk just kill them all once the software worked?

_Speak of the devil_, Tony thought when the electronic lock clicked and Kreuk appeared in the doorway. Wilson snuffled, startled, then, like a Jack-in-the-box, jumped from the chair to the Attention position with his hands at his sides.

"Gentlemen, progress report," Kreuk said curtly.

Tony turned in the chair, but bit his tongue and said nothing.

"We're almost done, Sir," Wilson reported.

"Define 'almost'."

"All we need are a few more minutes."

"Very well. And dispense with the military stance."

Tony had to swallow a laugh. _Butthead. That's what you get for sucking up._

Robin relaxed. He had the look of a king's jester after a failed joke.

Kreuk looked at Tony. "Will it be completed in ten minutes?"

"It should be, Mr. Kreuk." Robin replied, in a soft voice.

"_Almeida_, will it be completed in ten minutes?" Kreuk repeated.

"Uhm..." Tony stalled a little, taking the time to glance at Robin who couldn't hide surprise and contempt at the fact that Kreuk was talking to Tony instead of him. "Yeah, it should be."

"Very well."

Kreuk was about to close the door again, when he seemed to change his mind. "Oh, and Almeida. Your friend, Jack Bauer, has five minutes left to live. Say a prayer for him."

Tony felt his heart sink a little. He wanted to do something - but what? Charge forward, straight into Kreuk and the open door and try to find Jack before he was shot? Possible. But much likelier was that the only thing he'd find was a bullet with his name on it - if he was lucky. And after that, the same thing would happen to Michelle.

"Are you sure he can't be useful to you?"

Kreuk smirked, "He's outlived his usefulness."

Tony sighed. Jack had always considered himself expendable. Now was the time for Tony to accept that concept, even if he didn't agree. So the only other thing that he did was ask, "Where's Michelle?"

"She is in the exact same location where you last saw her. And she is doing well." Kreuk tapped his watch. "Ten minutes, Almeida. Ten. Not eleven. I am waiting."


	11. Time to Kill

**A/N:** Aaargh! Guys, sorry about this, but I found a relatively important typo in the last chapter, so I've had to update it... When Danielle and Bas Kreuk speak on the phone, the time should have been 4:28, not 2:28 a.m. Sorry about that! I only noticed it much later... that's what happens when you introduce time into a non-real time story. lol. sorry again!

Fingers crossed, this story will be finished before New Year. We'll see. keep nudging me ;-). This chapter is a bit longer than the previous ones, so take your time, sit back and hopefully enjoy.

* * *

"Time's up, Bauer." Hans said with malicious satisfaction in his voice and shoved Jack's body with a shoe. He grinned before pulling a pistol from his waistband, and chambering a round. "You wanna close your eyes or watch the bullet fly?"

Jack stared at him from the floor. "If you're gonna shoot me, at least do it to my face," Jack replied.

"Oh, absolutely," Blondie positioned himself above Jack, ready to fire.

"Hans, no," Ed said, touching Blondie's shoulder. "Boss said to shoot him in the woods, remember?"

Blondie shot a look at Ed, who let go of his arm. Then he sighed with disappointment. "You're right... Ed." He secured the weapon again but kept it in his hands. "But, Jack, if you try to pull a stunt on us, I'll blow your brains out, I don't care what Kreuk says."

Jack closed his eyes and whispered, "Just kill me," feebly letting his head drop to the side.

--

"It's done," Tony mumbled, having checked and rechecked the code to the end.

Robin let out a long, relieved breath. "Thanks."

"I didn't do it for you," Tony didn't try to hide his disdain. "Only _because _of you. There's a difference."

"Still."

Tony drummed his fingers on the desk, then turned with the chair and rubbed his chin, nodding at the door.

"Why don't you go knock, call for Kreuk. There's gonna be someone outside, waiting. Tell them we're good to go."

"Yeah, good idea." Robin grabbed his cane and stood without hesitation.

Tony waited until he was out of Robin's field of vision. Then he sprang up and ran into the idiot from behind: He grabbed him and pushed him head-first into the wall. He pressed Robin's head and neck against the concrete, securing him. At the same time, he shoved a fist into Robin's ribs. When Robin tried to free himself, Tony raised a knee between his legs, easily breaking his resistance. While Robin tried to press his legs together, Tony attacked for real. He used Rob as a punching bag, hitting his ribs, kidneys, back, whatever got in the way. Guilt was transforming into energy and he let it out. Each punch got him even more energized and motivated his fists further. With time, his arms grew heavy, but the heavier they got, the lighter he felt inside.

--

Randy, flanked by Ed and Blondie, was carrying Jack on his back and supported him with one hand while marching towards the woods. "You one heavy Sum'Bitch, Bauer," Randy complained. "A bitch ya can't walk. Woulda loved to have ya on a leash like a dawg."

Blondie smacked Jack's head just for fun. "Oh, I'm so gonna enjoy this, Jack."

Jack didn't comment, nor did he move a muscle. Wind brushed his wet hair and tickled his back. Water was still dripping from his clothes. Randy didn't seem to mind getting wet.

"Ed!" a voice called from the hideout. All three heads turned towards the sound. Marco was standing in the beam of the searchlight right in front of the house. "I need you inside, now. Unless you're too busy doing nothing."

"Go," Blondie nodded, "We can handle the Fed."

"Ex Fed," Ed laughed. "See ya inside," he added and left.

Randy tromped ahead in the flickering path of light. Blondie led the way, and Jack heard him push branches out of the way. The most prominent view before Jack's eyes was Randy's ass but he could still see the hideout if he lifted his head. It wasn't more than 200 yards away and the searchlight still easily reached their position. A little way into the woods, at a clearing where the milky moonlight and the artificial light wed, Blondie stopped.

"That's far enough. Put him down."

Randy dropped Jack into the dirt. Jack landed on his right side, and rolled over to his stomach with the right arm trapped underneath him.

"Get up on your knees, Bauer," Blondie ordered, scratching himself with the barrel of the pistol.

Jack didn't move.

"Come on, asshole. I do want to see your face when I shoot you."

Jack tried, managed to pull himself up only a few inches, then, with a groan, fell back sidewards into the dirt.

"Oh come on."

With an annoyed breath, Blondie bent over Jack and grabbed his shoulders. All of a sudden, Jack threw his left arm up, grabbed Blondie's neck, jerked his right arm free, and stuck the MIcrotech Halo knife that he'd been hiding in it into Blondie's throat, then twisted it there, ripping open the trachea. Then he pulled a shocked Blondie down to the ground.

Randy had gone for his own gun. Jack tugged at the knife that he'd taped to his calf earlier in the shed and launched it at Randy. It hit Randy's gun holding hand and remained stuck there like a dart. Randy screamed. He closed his other hand around his bleeding one, obviously not quite sure what to do with the knife in it. The gun he was holding momentarily faded into the back of his mind. Jack jumped up and at Randy and firmly grabbed Randy's hand and the gun in it. The knife fell to the ground. Jack twisted Randy's arm at the wrist and touched the Beretta's barrel to the man's chest. Then he squeezed the trigger with the thug's own index finger twice, sending two slugs through the heart.

Randy's body went heavy and limp in Jack's arms. Jack pushed it away, taking possession of the pistol. With a long breath, he wiped some blood away from his neck, and mumbled to himself,

"Dammit... I'm getting too old for this."

He crouched next to Randy for a second, feeling for a pulse at his neck artery. There was none. Satisfied, he stood and glanced at Blondie. Covered in blood, hands wrapped around his throat, as if there were any hope of closing off the gaping wound in it or ever breathing again, he was lying in his own gore, staring at Jack pleadingly with giant eyes.

Jack took two steps closer until he towered over Blondie. Not that Blondie could put up a fight, but Jack stood over him with the weapon at the ready anyway. He savored this moment, this feeling of power after the tables had turned; standing over a victim with their life in his hands. He could just leave him to die, or finish him off. If he did, it wouldn't be out of pity. He was just annoyed at the bubbling sounds that Blondie made while trying to breathe.

Jack almost smirked when he whispered, "What goes around, comes around."

Blondie had no breath in him to reply.

Jack placed a foot on top of Blondie's hands, then pushed down, slowly at first, then hard, adding his body weight in. He increased the pressure until Blondie's larynx shattered with an audible crack and kept up the pressure until the death rattle finally stopped. Blondie's eyes froze. Then Jack stepped down. He watched the dead face for a few more seconds, before he was finally able to peel his gaze away from it.

He turned and looked towards the hideout, where nothing seemed to move. Shots would have been expected inside, so he didn't think that anyone would come out to see what was going on. The searchlight's beam was undisturbed. Staying between the trees, he secured the weapon and allowed himself to sit down and lean on a large rock to recover and think.

--

Tony was still playing punchbag with Robin when Kreuk finally interrupted, after having watched from the door for a couple of minutes.

"Finished?" Kreuk asked, sounding almost amused.

Tony appreciated Kreuk's not trying to interfere this time around, though he could have. Now that Kreuk had finally interrupted, Tony figured it was time to stop. He abruptly let go of Robin, who slowly slid down to the floor. Breathing heavily through his mouth, Tony stepped away and nodded.

"Yeah. We're done. You can test your software."

"Thank you, Mr. Almeida."

Kreuk nodded to Marco and Ed, who were waiting at the door. They nodded back.

"You," Marco said to Tony. "Come."

"Where to?"

"Back to your girl. Come on."

Tony glanced at Kreuk, somewhat unsure. Didn't he need him to test-run to software?

Kreuk didn't wait for Tony to leave the room before continuing, "Mr. Wilson, you are going to test the software for us. At a location."

"What?" Wilson rolled over, onto his back, lying there like a squashed bug. "Me going out wasn't part of the plan. Why can't I do it remotely from here, as planned?"

"That was Plan A, Mr. Wilson. That changed when you were unable to deliver results within the indicated time frame. Now I require you to do it outside."

"Move, Almeida," Ed shoved Tony towards Marco, who caught him and directed him out.

Tony normalized his breathing and ran his hands through his hair a couple of times while moving down the corridor, to avoid it being a total mess when Michelle saw him. His body was hot and a little sweaty but he couldn't do anything about that now. He'd cool down eventually.

He memorized the code entered at the holding room panel, though he guessed that codes changed every so often. Michelle was standing by the opposite wall when he first saw her. Her eyes were smiling. Ed shoved him inside, and pulled the door closed. Michelle only managed to take a single step towards Tony, before he was already with her, and took her in her arms with the intensity of a man who's been gone a month.

--

It was a clear night, and the lantern in the sky flickered happily. The air was fresh; wind flew through the treetops like a ghost dancing tango with the branches, and dew began to set on the grass patches and leaves. Jack was freezing in his damp clothes, but Blondie's were ruined and Randy's both bloody and wet... He took off Randy's jacket and at least put that on. It'd have to do for now. He armed himself with both firearms and all the knives he could find. He was happy to discover that both men had carried a couple extra clips for their weapons. Finally, since his own cell phone had been drowned and Blondie's battery was dying, Jack picked Randy's and slipped it inside the jacket.

The woods were quiet, but Jack guessed that the silence wouldn't last long. Soon, someone would start looking, and find the bodies. Assuming Kreuk's crowd was still inside. By the time they did, he had to be far enough away to avoid detection but preferably still have a visual of the compound... It was time to go. He glanced at his watch, marginally noting that he'd been up for almost twenty-four hours; a couple more, and he'd lose the advantage of darkness. He left his concealed position, moving along the edge of the woods and away from the searchlight. He didn't exactly know where he was headed to but figured that he'd see it when he got there.

--

Tony pulled back from Michelle's embrace, digging his fingers into her hair. "Sweetheart, are you alright? Did they hurt you?"

She still held on to him, smiled, "No, I'm okay. You?"

Tony simply shook his head. "They just wanted me to alter this code..." He paused, lowered his eyes, and quietly admitted, "I did it... "

Michelle reached for his hand, but he pulled back and turned to walk away. His voice carried a self-loathing note when he added, "I'm sorry."

Michelle caught his arm and tried to pull him back towards her. He remained rooted to the spot, unable to look at her. He wanted to ask her if she could ever forgive him for caving in, but didn't dare. He feared letting her down more than anything else. Rationally, he knew she couldn't hate him for it, but...

Not letting go, Michelle stepped closer to him. Tony's free hand came up, and he covered his eyes for a moment, pressing his fingertips into his eyeballs until it hurt. Michelle gently took his chin between three fingers. Her skin felt cold to his face, although it could have just been his cheeks burning. His hand dropped back to his side but his eyes remained closed until Michelle began to slowly lift his chin. She didn't stop until he couldn't point his eyes at anything but her. Then she said earnestly,

"Honey, I love you."

She'd said it with such honesty that she caught him off-guard.

"I love you and I don't care what they made you do."

Tony opened his mouth but said nothing. Her fingers caressed his skin, and he realized how much he'd missed her touch, though he'd only been gone an hour or two. Something awakened in him, something he couldn't name, but for some reason, everything that had happened in the last couple of hours suddenly didn't seem so bad.

Michelle found both his hands and squeezed them. She didn't seem to mind the heat radiating from his body. "What's done is done," she said without the slightest accusation in her tone, "It's done, but it's not unfixable."

She lowered her voice to little more than a whisper. "We can still call it in, this can still end well..." She paused to take a long, calming breath and Tony followed her lead, noting with pleasure how the cool air seemed to normalize his body temperature.

Finally, she stepped so close to him that their bodies almost touched and their hands were the only divider between their chests. "But first, we have to focus on other things. Like getting out of here."

Tony closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. She was right, they had to focus. _He _had to focus. That something inside him began to surface again and now he realized what it was: confidence. Confidence and hope.

He untangled his fingers until his hands came up on top of hers and kissed her forehead, then nodded and even managed to produce a slight smile.

"How did I ever manage to live without you?"

"I honestly have no idea," she smirked, and he could tell she was proud that her 'pick-Tony-up-program' had worked. But she again caught him unprepared just a second later, when she asked through the grin, "Where's Jack?"

An icy fist closed around Tony's heart. Afraid to let the pain show, he again took a step back, letting go of Michelle. How was he supposed to tell her that the hope that she'd been clinging on to was probably gone? How would she react?

He averted his eyes from her and sighed. "I dunno."

He could feel her gaze glued to his back as he walked away. He stopped in the center and buried his face in his hands, all of a sudden feeling utterly helpless again. When he finally heard her take a step towards him, he rubbed his cheeks and sighed.

"Tony... What are you not telling me?" she questioned with that fear in her voice which betrayed that she was already expecting the worst.

He forced himself to face her, but couldn't raise his eyes from the floor yet. Some voice in his head was telling him that Jack's destiny was his fault and he couldn't silence it.

"Uhm..." He scratched his right cheek with his left hand, then rested both hands on his hips. Seconds passed before he managed to make the words come out.

"They, uh..." finally, he found her stare. _Just say it_. "Wilson blew Jack's cover."

"What?" she almost gasped.

"Then Kreuk ordered Jack killed." He left out the part about torture. She didn't need to know that.

Even so, the hope that had been in Michelle's eyes minutes ago instantly got wiped out.

"Oh, my god..."

She backed up, felt for the wall behind her, and leaned on it. Slowly, she began to lower herself down to the floor. Tony rushed over and helped her sit down, coming to rest beside her on his knees.

"Well..." she had to swallow before she made herself ask, "Well, is he...?"

Tony brushed a few stray curls behind Michelle's ears, and shook his head. "I don't know."

--

Jack crept around the woods like a predator in search of prey, using what protection he could get from the trees. His eyes were his night vision goggles, his ears his radar, his nose the alarm button and his feet mine detectors. He'd circled the house once, finding no sentries outside, which was strange, since he knew that there was no elaborate surveillance system inside. Kreuk was either overtly confident, extremely low on manpower, or not there at all. Jack hadn't seen him while being taken to his execution, and somehow he began to doubt the situation now. Were Tony and Michelle even still in the compound? Or had they been moved?

The darkness was fading as the sun slowly rose towards the horizon, but this time around, Jack didn't bother to watch it rise. He'd shut out everything that was a distraction; the pain from his injuries, the cold, the thirst... Even the wetness of his clothes had simply become another useless fact and he dismissed it. He'd just taken position behind a tree when the main door squealed open and three men stepped into the mighty beam of the searchlight. Jack recognized a guy whose name he thought to be Eric, then there was Robin Wilson, and finally, Ed the Hercules, who was pushing Robin ahead at gunpoint. Jack crouched lower and wondered if everything had failed and Robin was about to meet his maker.

The trio headed straight towards Jack, across the open field. Each step they took added an ounce of nervousness to Jack's composure. He was about to take a chance and run when they stopped in the midst of the field and Eric held his hand into the air. Jack crouched lower, holding his breath. Seconds later, the screeching of metal grinding against metal tore the silence and the grass in front of them began to rise on one end and sink on another. When the transformation was over, there stood an underground tunnel wide enough for vehicles.

"Move it," Ed shoved Robin towards the opening. Jack resumed his breathing. Then Ed's cell phone rang. "Wait," he told Eric, "it's Boss." He put the call on speaker. "Mr. Kreuk?"

"Have you departed yet?"

"No, Sir, we're just pulling out."

"Have you seen Hans out there?"

"No, Sir, but we didn't look. I thought he was with you."

"He is not." Kreuk paused just for a second. "Go. And report immediately after it's done."

"Yes, Sir."

The line broke. Ed turned towards the woods, staring right at Jack without seeing him. Jack stared back through the leaves. The pistol grip in his hand grew warm. He waited.

"Come on, man," Eric said, "We got our own task."

Ed nodded, though hesitantly. Finally, he turned away.

"Move," he pushed Robin again. Unprepared, Robin almost fell, yet somehow managed to stay upright. He began to walk ahead slowly, moaning with each step while leaning on the stick in his hand.

"Oh, for god's sake!" Ed shouted, and grabbed Robin under the arm, lifting him off the ground. He picked him up bodily and swiftly carried him inside the tunnel.

While he watched, Jack breathed out slowly, relaxing his grip on the weapon. Where was Kreuk? Where was Wilson being taken to? Had the software scheme failed, or worse even, had it worked? Was there still time to stop it? From what Jack had seen, Kreuk didn't seem like the kind of guy aiming to annihilate the world, or bring down the country, but he had some agenda, and whatever it was, Jack felt compelled to prevent it. He also felt compelled to help Tony and Michelle - and that's where the trouble started. He couldn't do both at the same time, and he didn't know where they were, either. They could still all be in, but they could just as well have pulled out while he was being interrogated. Suddenly he wasn't sure.

Jack tossed the thoughts around for a few seconds. Tony was a damn good agent, and a damn good talker. He could sell a box of cnocolates to a diabetic if he wanted to - or convince Kreuk not to shoot. Wherever they were. Jack told himself that stopping these guys would also help clear Tony's name and keep him out of the courtroom and public scruteny. He ignored the part of him that told him to stay and wait, because he couldn't tell whether waiting or leaving would be a waste of time. What he knew was that he still had a chance to thwart Kreuk's plan and when these guys returned, they'd take him to Kreuk. And hopefully to Tony and Michelle. The decision was made.

He needed only one thing: a vehicle.

The main road wasn't far away and with the daybreak, people were starting to head to work. He reckoned he'd get lucky. He jumped to his feet and sprinted through the woods, with his arms in front of him, protecting his eyes from stray branches in their way. It took him three minutes to reach the edge of the hill where the trees ended. Underneath it, twenty yards deeper, lay the serpentine road. The shortest route led straight down the steep slope, through bushes and dirt. Jack couldn't look for a detour. Instead, he found a spot relatively free from bushes and crouched. With the firearms in both hands, having ensured himself that they were secured and wouldn't accidentally fire, Jack pulled his arms to his chest and sent himself down. He rolled sidewards with his eyes closed for protection. Rocks stabbed his back and sides and he hit an elbow on something, but he landed at the side of the road in record time. Picking himself up, he cleaned his eyes and face with a shirt sleeve. While running up the road, he minimally dusted himself off and spit a couple of times to get rid of the dust in his mouth. Behind a large, dry bush, close to where the van would inevitably enter the road, he kneeled into the dust and waited, like a lurking lion.

A bright red Harley Davidson roared past him just as he hid, throwing dust up like a whirlwind. He cursed its timing because he would have loved to borrow the steel horse but couldn't risk it now. He'd just about lost the bike from his sight when an engine approached from the hideout road. A white van descended in a hurry, halted briefly at the point of contact with the main road, then swerved onto it. The vehicle was clean and plain, without any markings on the side, and had plates that looked legal enough at first sight. Judging from experience, Jack assumed they were fakes; untraceable. Stolen from a stolen vehicle, then painted over with a bogus number. Standard practice. He learned the number by heart, just in case he had to play hide and seek with it. The van accelerated towards Santa Rosa.

Jack glanced in the opposite direction. The road was deserted.

"Dammit."

The worst thing about a stakeout was the wait. The worst thing about needing to follow a vehicle was waiting on transportation. Whatever drove by next, Jack needed it. He'd checked his watch at least fifteen times by the time he got the chance. As soon as he heard a car from a distance, he put on brown leather gloves that he'd found in Randy's jacket, stuck one weapon in an inside pocket of it, and came out from behind the bush with the other pistol ready in his right hand. The sound of the engine grew louder; even if he'd closed his eyes, he would have known it was a Chevy. He covered the armed hand with the jacket and his other hand. He stooped and staggered onto the road like an injured Bambi. Seconds later, he was the deer in the car's headlights. He heard the horn cry but only stepped further into the road. He saw the dust fly as the driver stepped on the breaks. He waited - with nerves of steel.

The engine's hot breath tickled his skin when the black Chevy Tahoe came to a stop, three feet away.

_Thank you_, Jack thought.

The driver activated the warning lights. Jack still didn't move.

"Hey, are you ok?" a female voice asked while she dismounted the vehicle. "You don't look so good."

She touched his shoulder, and that's when he straightened up, revealing the weapon, stepped behind the slender, blonde woman and grabbed her from behind. Before she could scream, he'd pressed one hand against her mouth and the muzzle of the pistol into the small of her back.

"Listen, I'm one of the good guys," he said, even guessing she'd have a hard time believing him. "But I need to follow some bad guys, and they drove right down this road," he calmly explained. "I need your car. When I've caught up with them, I will let you go. I promise. Do you understand?"

He paused to let her nod. She did.

"Good. I promise you, you won't get hurt." He glanced up and down the road. They were still alone. "Let's go."

He led her to the driver's side of the SUV. "Stop."

She did. "Ok, I'm going to take my hand off your mouth. Don't scream. Okay?"

She nodded again.

Jack tested her, and she remained quiet. He quickly reached into the car, removing the keys from the ignition.

Then he gave her a slight push with the other hand. "Get in... Move over, I'm driving. Quickly, come on."

She complied.

"Buckle up."

Again, she obeyed. Jack stuck the pistol into his waistband, got into the SUV, put on the seat belt, gunned the engine and drove off. He glanced into the mirror, still not seeing anyone. He stepped on the gas, loving the roar the engine produced. The Tahoe had enough horse power under its hood to catch up with cars faster than the target van.

"Sit on your hands," he said to the woman, briefly glancing at her. She was relatively young, in her mid-thirties or so, long haired, and scared. She obeyed.

"Look, I swear to you, I _am_ one of the good guys," he said in the most calming voice possible. "I know that me coming at you with a gun and all isn't going to make us friends, but I'm not gonna hurt you if you don't give me a reason to."

"Look, just take the car and let me go," she offered. "You can drop it off wherever."

"I can't let you go. Not here. The chances of you running into the people I'm after are too high. I can't afford the risk of you exposing me. Besides, trust me, you're safer with me than you would be with them."

She nodded. "Fine, then when?"

"When I can," he replied.

A few minutes passed in silence. Then, with satisfaction, Jack noted that he had the white van in his sight. Now he eased up on the gas, falling back.

The woman looked at Jack. "Are they the people you're after?"

"Yeah."

She stared at the van for a minute. There was nothing to see, just white metal. "So, who are they? And who are you? A cop?"

"Not quite," Jack laughed, glancing at her. She reminded him of Kim. She'd quickly overcome her initial shock and was trying to get him to talk. He sort of liked that; it was better than screaming and crying. As long as she didn't try to trick him. She was looking at him with big blue eyes she'd highlighted with black mascara. Her shiny hair and gentle silk blouse made her look so brittle. The faintly colored fabric bathed in the early morning light, adopting a soft touch of orange, which made her look livelier. Jack forced his eyes to watch the road again, and explained,

"I used to be. Now I'm working for myself."

--

Tony pushed himself back and leaned on the wall, then gently pulled Michelle closer with one arm.

"Com'ere," he whispered. "Lie down. You must be exhausted."

"You, too," she noted, but lowered herself down to one side nonetheless, and allowed him to set her head onto his lap. She loved to sleep with her head on his chest at home; right now, offering her his thighs was the best he could do.

"This isn't the time to be sleeping, though," she noted, squeezing a hand underneath her cheek. "We might ne-"

"Shhh..." Tony interrupted her, leading a hand into her hair. It had mostly dried by now, but her beautiful curls were a mess. "Shh... Try to rest."

Michelle's eyes remained open, though Tony could feel the tension in her body ebb away as she grew heavier. She gently led her other hand up and down his legs, and he enjoyed the slight tickling sensation that gave him. While he gently massaged her scalp, he tried to relax, too. There was no denying the long day had gotten to him. But it wasn't over yet. He couldn't rest.

After a while, Michelle took a loud breath before commenting, "The sun must be up by now."

He nodded. "Probably."

She circled his knee a couple of times, then questioned, "Do you think Jack made it?"

Tony slightly shook his head but put confidence in his voice. "He's a pro, 'Chelle. "

Silence took over again as Michelle closed her eyes for a minute. When she next spoke, she had another question ready. "What about that guy? Wilson, right?"

"Yeah, Robin Wilson..." He sighed, trying not to allow the anger to come back up. "Or Rotten Weed, if you ask me... What about him?"

"How could he blow Jack's cover? How does he even know you?"

Here came the unpleasant part. "I'd rather not go there," he said lowly. "Why don't you-".

"Tony..." She cut him off now, and turned to her back, so she could look him in the eye. "You promised not to keep me out of things, remember?"

He remembered. It was one item on a long list of promises he'd made after she'd taken him back. It still didn't make it any easier... He scratched the scar in his neck. "Sweetheart, I'm not keeping you out of things. It's just a painful memory, that's all."

Her expression was all tenderness and understanding, but mixed with resolve. He knew any resistance would be pointless and gave in with a sigh.

"Robin was the one who drove me out of the IT job after prison."

"Him?"

"Mh-hmm..."

Tony's fingers gently caressed Michelle's shoulders while she took another minute to think. It didn't surprise him when she remained completely objective, not letting emotions take over.

"So... That's how he first met you, but how did he know about Jack?"

And still, he sighed. _No way in Hell she's gonna rest now._

"Well," he cleared his throat. "Allegedly, Wilson saw Jack's name mentioned in connection with my trial. Obviously, when Robin couldn't get the software to work, Kreuk had no further use for him. Robin saved himself by bringing us in. Jack was probably there when that happened."

Michelle's hands had stopped moving. She listened with great interest.

"Apparently, after that, Jack went to beat up Wilson. You know Jack, he probably tried to torture him," he added with a smirk. "I'm guessing Robin's broken ankle is Jack's work."

Even Michelle couldn't help but smirk at this comment.

"Now, Wilson used to serve in the Air Force. Back when we worked together, he made me within minutes, he knew I had military training. So, I guess he made Jack pretty quickly, too. Especially with the way Jack acted. Then he put two and two together and figured out that Ray Keagan was really Jack Bauer. And I guess he also thought he was buying himself more time if he gave Kreuk something substantial, like an ex CTU agent supposedly undercover, spying on him."

"And that way, he also made sure he got your attention," Michelle nodded and continued Tony's train of thought. "Forcing you to co-operate with him instead of fighting him."

"Exactly."

Michelle was again quiet for a while, busy with her own thoughts. Tony's thoughts revolved around how much he'd enjoyed sticking his knuckles into Robin's flesh. A pity he couldn't kill him then and there. Maybe later.

Suddenly, Michelle propped herself up on her elbows, and, despite Tony's attempt to keep her horizontal, sat up. Finding his eyes, she whispered, "We have to get out of here."

"This place is a fortress."

She smiled, squeezing his hand. "People break out of worse places all the time."

--

Bas Kreuk was on the phone again. The cell phone was such a useful gadget that he almost didn't remember how he used to get by without one, years ago. It was so damn convenient. Not to mention the added benefit not only of being reachable but of being instantly reachable. It was a tricky business he was in; he'd made a few friends, but also a few enemies along the way. In such a world, seconds could sometimes make the difference between life and death - and Bas cared about his life. He intended to spend at least a couple more decades on the face of this Earth. A few more years and he'd retire, go home, stay home, and watch his daughters grow.

But this little mess needed cleaning up first.

The man he was talking to was the one who'd help him. His name was Sanchez. César Esteban Sanchez. Most people on this side of the border just called him Colonel. It wasn't that he wanted them to; it was a name they had given him out of respect - or maybe fear. Though Sanchez didn't enforce the use of the nickname, Kreuk knew that he kinda liked it: it reminded him that he'd gotten to where he was without anyone's help.

Kreuk liked Sanchez. He was reliable, always punctual and never withdrew from anything. They weren't the kind of friends who socialized and played golf together, but they'd been in business contact for many years now. Kreuk was the North American connection; Sanchez the Latin American and the two went hand in hand.

They came from two different worlds, and at first glance, they shouldn't have become friends at all. While Kreuk had been born into his mother's riches and had enjoyed the best education at the best schools, Sanchez had struggled his way up from the poverty and slums of Colombia and Venezuela, never finishing school. He'd spent his youth fighting turf wars in the street gangs of Caracas; a rough education period, but necessary. Books couldn't have taught him how to survive; the streets did. That's where he learned to fight, for all the right reasons at first, and then the right reasons turned wrong. Once Sanchez had stopped believing in them, he quickly decided that following a misleaded gang leader wasn't his game. He was a leader and his time had come. He shot up the ladder like a firecracker, getting rid of anyone who stood in his way. Eventually, he got bored. Those streets had nothing left to teach him. He left Caracas overnight, leaving the banditos to themselves.

Sanchez had never let himself be drafted by any military force; he hated submission - his own, that is. But he looked at Kreuk as a partner, though he remained in charge. Kreuk had the money and more, but Sanchez brought in massive experience in the underworld on both sides of the border. So when Sanchez talked, Kreuk listened. He had no problem with Sanchez picking the when, where and how. Which is why - despite their different upbringing, the two were compatible. That, and they shared the same short-term goal: get the business done and survive.

This time, their business would be somewhat different. But the setting was the usual: Sanchez talked, Kreuk listened - and agreed to César's suggestions. The Colonel knew how to handle problems and he had a simple solution to the current one. And profitable on top of that. It would be an easy game.

--

Jack had been following the van for almost sixty minutes. Sonoma Highway had turned into 4th Street, which became College Avenue, which led right underneath Route 101, the highway that stretched from almost the Northern border with Canada, in the state of Washington, through Oregon and all of California, all the way South and into Los Angeles, where it seamlessly became Interstate 5. I-5 continued to grow further South, piercing San Diego on its way before finally finding the Mexican border. Like the Coast's leitmotif, the 101 united Santa Rosa, San Francisco and Los Angeles. It had been Jack's route of choice when he last left L.A.

Tailing the van without attracting attention had become easier once the rush hour outside of Santa Rosa caught up with them. The Chevy was just another car in the crowd, although - to a good observer - the dust on it betrayed it had not come from a city garage.

Making it to the heart of the city took a while, and the streets were packed. The van crept forward slowly, obeying all traffic rules. It swerved onto Beaver Street. Traffic was less here and Jack considered switching vehicles. He somehow sensed that the ride wouldn't last much longer.

He glanced at the blonde next to him. She hadn't moved her hands from underneath her buttocks the whole time, even when they talked. He liked obedience.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Why?"

"I'm Ray Keagan. What's your name?"

"Pamela Anderson."

_Fine, I was lying, too_, Jack thought but shot a look at her all the same. "Your _real _name."

She rolled her eyes and looked out of the window. "Andrea. Andrea Lincoln."

Jack nodded. "Listen, Andrea. I'm going to stop by the curb in a minute. When I do, I want you to calmly exit and take a walk. I'm going to leave the car for you three blocks down the road. I'll put the key behind a rear wheel. I know you're going to be tempted to call the cops, but think about it. I didn't hurt you, and I'm not stealing your car. There's no reason why both you and I couldn't just go on with our day and never cross paths again."

She looked at him. "I'd love that."

"Good." _At least she's honest. _A minute later, Jack pulled over. "Slowly, open the door, and walk away. Thanks for the ride."

"_You _drove."

She motioned to grab her handbag from the back seat, but Jack caught her arm. "No. Just you. Not the bag."

"What, now you're going to steal my handbag?"

"No, I just don't have the time to check that you're not holding any surprises in there. Go." She hesitated, so he raised his voice. "Go now!"

She jerked her arm free and slammed the door shut behind her.

Jack drove off.


	12. Failure

**A/N:** well... in celebration of the _Yes, We Can_ day: _Yes, I can_ give you a brand new chapter tonight. Read, enjoy, smile, cry and scream and then drop me a review ;-). thanks for reading & enjoying.

* * *

The 1990 Buick Century which Jack had borrowed after abandoning the blonde's Chevy carried him through Santa Rosa's streets like an airplane during evil turbulence. The sun wasn't too high up in the sky yet but the car's dark cherry color absorbed its hot rays like s sponge absorbs water. Jack was still wearing Randy's gloves and jacket and now he was sweating. He couldn't take them off, though, it was about minimizing trace evidence. He started to roll down the window when he stopped himself. It would make him too visible to the people outside.

With a silent "Dammit", he let go of the window regulator.

The target van was some thirty yards ahead. He couldn't see inside the vehicle, but he had no reason to believe he'd been spotted; they were amateurs, for all he knew, though he was too professional to make the mistake of underestimating the enemy. Every few seconds, he glanced at the inside mirror. Vehicles came and went, no-one stayed behind him. No tail.

He could feel that the pursuit was nearing its end, though, and if he was honest, he wanted it to end. The longer he drove, the further away he went from Tony and Michelle, not even knowing his chances of success. He was getting a headache. There was no water, no food and no aspirin, but a pack of bubble gum lay on the dashboard. He popped two and chewed on them with enthusiasm, liberating the sugar from the gum.

His instinct hadn't failed him. Two minutes later, the van stopped. Jack slowed down at the corner of the street, cruising at walking speed as if searching for an address but kept his head low between his shoulders and his gaze on the van while it parked, its doors slid open and all three occupants jumped down. Eric had changed into a clean, white shirt and attached an ID to the shirt pocket. Jack was too far away to make out the company's logo or read its name but now at least he understood the scheme.

Jack rolled the Buick forward, another yard or so. He watched Eric touch the ID to a reader at the entrance to a building and walk in like he belonged there. Ed and Robin followed him inside, without throwing a glance behind themselves. As soon as he lost them, Jack accelerated to the next corner and parked the car just so on the sidewalk. The keys remained in the ignition when he turned off the engine and left the vehicle behind.

He glanced down at his bloody shirt and zipped up the jacket to cover the stains. The leather also wore a few blood drops, but he couldn't do anything about that now. He sprinted as fast as he could without attracting attention and reached the building in under a minute. He saw from ten yards away that there was no entering without a key card. Or an override code, but that would only have worked back in the Field Ops days, with Chloe. He also noticed a surveillance camera above the door and made sure he never raised his head towards it. He positioned himself underneath the camera and waited. When a young redhead appeared behind the glass doors, he began to fumble in his pockets, a searching expression on his face.

The redhead exited the building and held the door open for him with a smile. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Jack said, smiling back briefly before walking in.

The building must have been the oldest in town. Its lobby was inconspicuous. Grey walls, a grey, granite staircase and a single elevator to the right, one mirror lining the entire wall to the left, a framed list of companies entertaining offices in the building, and two doors, labeled security and maintenance, respectively, which both stood minimally ajar. Jack unzipped the jacket to his navel and pushed a hand inside, feeling for the weapon. Then he approached the security door.

"Hello," he said, pushing it open. The room stood empty. There was a single monitor on the desk, and it showed the entrance area. A cup of almost solid coffee that seemed colder than ice stood in the middle of a large brown stain on the aluminium desk, surrounded by a heap of papers and a general mess. "No wonder Kreuk picked this place," Jack mumbled, shutting the door. He quickly cleared the maintenance room, then went to the company listing. Ten. At least five of them possibly in financing, judging by the names, which made them likely targets.

"Dammit... Now where to?"

Someone entered the building, and Jack remained standing with his back to the lobby, body tense and ears sharpened until the footsteps disappeared. He didn't like his odds of finding the company in time. There were too many options. He was still thinking them through when Randy's cell phone vibrated in the jacket. He almost jumped at it. It vibrated again.

Two smartly dressed women entered the building, discussing the price of their latte macchiatos at the local Starbucks. Jack kept his head low and dug out the phone. The number was hidden. Jack waited until the women took the elevator up. Only then did he flip open the phone and put it to his ear.

"Taylor, where are the pair of you?" Kreuk's falsetto questioned. "I have been attempting to reach Hans for over an hour now."

Jack remained silent.

"Taylor!"

Jack placed a palm over the phone's microphone. "I'm here."

"Have Hans call me, now!"

The line died. Jack set the phone to silent and was about to slip it back inside when, on a hunch, he checked the message inbox. Then the phone book.

He smiled.

Finally, he locked himself in the security room and rewound the security tape a few minutes.

"Show me," he whispered to Eric as he watched them arrive at the building and enter. He rewound again a few seconds, then, at the right moment, paused the tape and zoomed in on the ID. Eric Hayes, it said; just like in the phone book. He couldn't read the company name, but a partial company logo was visible. A blue and grey ZK with a symbol resembling the peace sign drawn around it. Jack had seen it on the company list in the hallway: _Zakk & Co._

"Gotcha."

--

Jack's newest female acquaintance was carrying her high heels in her hands, walking barefoot over the asphalt that warmed more with every minute that passed.

"Finally," she said to herself. Her car was just across the street and she gave it a relieved smile. The busy traffic didn't seem to concern her. She simply ran over to the other sidewalk and managed to survive. She looked to the left and right for a second, then went down on one knee by the left rear wheel and stuck a hand behind it. She came up empty. She stood again.

"Ouch," she let out, touching her left calf for a second or two. "Great time to be having cramps."

She waited a few seconds, massaging her calf, before she walked around the back of the car and crouched down by the right wheel. This time, she found the key and instantly pressed the unlock button. The Chevy readily clicked itself open. She sat down at the wheel, locked the doors, then grabbed the handbag from the backseat. Removing a pack of Camels from the bag, she lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke, relaxing. After inhaling some smoke again, she dug out a red cell phone and hit a speed dial key.

She listened to the ringing for twenty seconds. Then she hung up.

--

Jack had taken the fourteen stairs to the first floor, then called the elevator. When it arrived, he stepped between its sliding doors, located the light source of the motion sensor, stuck the wet, sticky bubble gum there, and spread the pink, chewy mass well over the red plastic circle, carefully covering the whole area. He stepped into the cabin and waited; the doors didn't close. He covered the gum with a Kleenex, which he carefully hid inside the opening, then headed for the staircase, weapon pressed against a thigh. He moved to the second floor easily, his right shoulder in constant contact with the wall. He soon perceived voices wondering why the elevator wasn't working, then footsteps from the staircase behind him. He was on the third floor. He needed the twelfth. He proceeded up, steadily, but allowed the two graying men to overtake him. He managed to get to the fourth, when heavy footsteps approached from above. He stopped at the 7th step, and waited.

First there was a crackling sound, then a few words. "Colin, it's... the elevator .... working."

"I'm on my way, damn it. There was a problem upstairs too," Colin replied.

Jack stuck his hand in his jacket, hiding the firearm and took the 8th and 9th steps.

"There's an old.... can't walk up ... stairs."

"Yeah, I copy that, I'll be there in a minute."

The short, chubby security guard appeared at the top of the staircase a few seconds later and greeted Jack. "Mornin'."

"Hey," Jack returned the greeting but didn't completely lift his head. He was at the 10th step now.

The guard walked down three steps. "What a way to start the day, huh?"

"Yeah..." Jack smiled in a corner of his mouth. "it's good exercise, though."

Colin's forty-plus years smiled back. "Yes, it is, people should use the stairs more."

He stopped at the 10th step, too, and tried to look at Jack's face. Jack tensed. _Walk on, Colin..._

The radio chirped. Colin ignored it. His gaze fell on Jack's jacket, then rose up to Jack's face. At the same time, his right hand began to rise ever so slightly, towards his firearm. "I don't want to sound impolite but I haven't seen you here before. Do you work here?"

Jack raised his head, finding Colin's eyes and tightened his grip around the weapon in his own hand. "No." _Walk on, Colin, don't be stupid._ "I have an appointment. With Eric Hayes of _Zakk & Co_."

"Oh, I see," Colin smiled. "It's still a long way up, then..."

"Yeah."

Colin's hand had reached the holster at his side but he smiled at Jack. "Well, don't let me hold you back. I have to deal with this elevator problem. People are getting impatient."

"Yeah, I bet," Jack replied but remained frozen.

Colin didn't move, either.

Tiny heels climbed the stairs in a staccato only a woman could produce. Not relenting for a second, and obviously completely unaware of the tension between the two men on the staircase, she continued up. "Colin, they're really getting ticked off downstairs. Oh, and the elevator is stuck on the first floor, I've just walked past it."

"I'm on my way, Miss Simmons," Colin answered, still unmoving.

"Thank you."

Seconds later, she had was right by Jack and Colin. "Excuse me," she uttered hastily, and pushed herself between the two men.

While her body was between them, both men used the moment to pull their weapons. At the distance of an arm's length, they stood, pistols pointed at each other's heads. Miss Simmons turned back and shrieked in shock.

"Run!" Colin yelled.

While Miss Simmons screamed again and then obeyed Colin's command, Jack moved in on Colin, attacking and defending at the same time. Striking Colin's right arm out of the way, while taking hold of his hand and the weapon in it, pushing these away, and simultaneously striking out with his right. Colin blocked Jack with his free left arm, and threw his fist towards Jack's face. Jack caught the arm and headbutted Colin. Colin staggered backward but tried to bring a knee up between Jack's legs. Jack had kept his hips turned inward for protection. With Colin momentarily one-legged, Jack pushed back full force, getting the guard off balance, while still holding him by the armed hand. Finally, he delivered a blow with the butt of the pistol which sent Colin into unconsciousness. Jack lowered him down.

"Dammit, Colin, you should have walked away," he whispered, putting two fingers to Colin's neck artery. "You'll have a hell of a headache when you wake up."

The mission had failed. Jack nicked Colin's 9mm SIGSauer and the ammo from the holster and ran down the stairs. On the first floor, he pulled out the Kleenex and the chewing gum from the elevator door, so as not to give anyone a reason to look for DNA there. Finally, he broke the glass to the fire alarm box and hit the big, red button. While the ear-piercing noise resounded, he rode the elevator down to the ground floor, and ran out of the building, past the lazy crowd of people still gathered on the ground floor.

He found the van and circled it once. It was empty. First people were starting to walk out of the building, and he needed to be quick. He tried the back doors: unlocked. He let himself in, shutting the doors behind himself and looked around. The van had a solid white plastic divider between the cargo area and the front seats. There were only a few large cardboard boxes, plastic wraps, blankets, and some tools. The boxes were full, and not big enough for Jack to hide in anyway. He pulled a blanket behind the boxes, releasing a grey cloud of dust as he did so. He managed not to sneeze, but knew not to lie down on his back if he wanted to be able to breathe during transport. He lay on his side, throwing the blanket over his curled up body, and pushed his nose under his forearm to avoid directly breathing in the dust and tickling his nose. And now he waited.

--

"Hola, Henry," it was a deep voice that greeted Bas Kreuk from the other end of yet another phone call.

"Amigo," Kreuk said into the phone, leaning his rear on the edge of an empty table in the HQ, empty like most of the tables were now. "I have been expecting your call."

"Soy aquí ahora," Sanchez replied, retaining the authoritative note in his tone even in these simple words. There was a pause on Sanchez's end before he noted, "Your line's been busy today. Lots of phonecalls?"

Bas pushed himself away from the table and took two steps into the HQ. "Just my wife, César. Nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry?" Sanchez's English was colored with a thick Spanish accent. "In my experiencia, Henry, wife, children and relatives is _always _something to worry, whether you fuck 'em or beat 'em or love 'em or kill 'em. It's a... weakness, comprendes? Besides, the world is too full of people already."

Bas had calmly lit another fine Cuban cigar while listening to Sanchez. Then, after blowing the smoke into the air, he nonchalantly replied, "I am familiar with your stance on the subject, César..."

"Just a friendly word of warning, amigo... You can never be careful enough." Sanchez said and Kreuk heard him take a sip from a bottle. "Well, to the business then. The merchandise has arrived safely and on time. Gracias."

Kreuk liked the change of topic. It was, after all, the intent of this phone call. "I am never late, César, you know that."

"That's true."

"I need the new location now. Everything is ready here. My men are leaving as we speak."

"Muy bien... Tell them to take the Bodega Highway from Sebastopol, go through Freestone and past Bodega. At the intersection with Bay Highway, they go right. My men will be waiting 500 meters from the intersection and take care of everything."

"Good. What about the helicopter?"

"You should be hearing it right now."

Kreuk moved the phone away from his ear for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I believe it has just landed. Gracias."

"De nada. Hasta luego."

--

Jack didn't have to wait long for someone to rip open the van's door.

"Get in!" Ed shouted, shoving something or someone inside. Jack assumed that was Robin. "Eric, you drive," he added before himself climbing into the van and pulling the doors shut. "Sit!" he ordered Robin.

Jack could feel Wilson sit down not far from him. _Just don't touch the boxes_, he thought. At the same time, Ed was beeping numbers into a cell phone. Jack prepared to listen.

"Mr. Kreuk, it's Ed.... Yeah, we're on our way. We had to pull out earlier than planned... Some idiot sounded the fire alarm, Hell broke loose... No, no problems with the software. Yes... It seems to be working... Yes, Sir, I understand. We're heading back... Yes, Sir."

Ed hung up.

"What did he say?" Robin asked.

Jack heard the sound of the hammer being cocked on a semi-automatic pistol. "He said you're done," Ed answered.

The side wall of the vehicle vibrated as Robin pulled himself up. "No! No, please! Don't!"

A single, silenced shot cut short Wilson's scream. Then a dull thud shook the van.

Jack could feel the chassis close to his feet flex under Ed's weight as the big man stepped over Wilson's body and towards the front. Ed hammered his knuckles on the divider. "Hey! Back to the woods!"

--

Despite knowing better, Tony must have dozed off for a second, because he was startled when Michelle touched his thigh and nodded towards the door. He hadn't heard the four beeps that must have preceded Kreuk's coming in. But now the Dutch businessman with a flair for the illegal walked in with a smile thinning his full lips.

"Thank you, Mr. Almeida. The test was successful."

Tony pulled his arm free from behind Michelle's back, nodding. "So what happens now?"

"Now, it is time for a little journey. Please do not give my men any trouble when they come for you."

"You said you'd let us go," Tony tried.

Kreuk only turned on his heels, then left the room.

Michelle touched her forehead like she was getting a headache and whispered, "They have no use for us any more."

Tony gently put a hand behind her head, pulling her closer, towards his chest. "I know..."

He kissed the zenith of her skull and whispered into her hair, "I love you, Michelle. More than my life. Don't you ever forget that."

"You're the only man I've ever really loved."

As silence fell, Tony felt fatigue and fear surface again, but refused to admit defeat. Au contraire. He pulled back a little, sitting up straight.

"You know," he began and Michelle sat up too, eyeing him with interest. "When I was first programming _doubleG_, I thought I was being paranoid. I included a whole set of redundant safety features in it, all co-dependent on one another."

He took her hand, finding the middle of her palm with his thumb, "The reason Robin couldn't make his changes work was 'cause of the tamper-proof portion of the code that I'd put in. The way it works is, if you try to alter any piece of the software, add anything to it, the section just shuts down the whole damn thing, anything you do just wrecks havoc. Wilson was too dumb to find it, which is why Kreuk brought me in."

"So how did you fix it?"

"Well, I deleted the section. Now, if you delete that, things seem fine at first. Whatever changes you make to the software work. But the missing section triggers something else... The code for this is not a section as such, so it's not easy to find. They're just small tidbits of seemingly useless junk, spread throughout the entire code. Almost impossible to discover unless you know exactly what you're looking for." His eyes were smiling while he explained. "Basically, it's sort of like the junk that some programmers include in codes as their signature. Except this one has consequences."

He could see that Michelle was seeing where he was going with this, and she confirmed it by asking, "A kill code?"

"Yeah, kinda," Tony grinned. "A delayed self-destruct command. And while committing hara-kiri, it's gonna send red lights flashing all over that company's servers. They've got to be blind not to notice." He briefly glanced at his watch. "If Robin tested the software ten minutes ago, it should begin right about now."

By now, the smile on Michelle's face was so big it went from ear to ear. She took Tony's face between her hands and touched his lips with hers ever so gently. "You're a genius, Agent Almeida."

"No, just way too cautious."

--

A long cylinder of ash fell onto the blonde's creamy blouse as she took another drag from the cigarette in her mouth.

"Oh, great," she mouthed, cleaning the ash away with her free hand. "Why not burn a hole in the silk while you're at it..."

She inspected the fabric, finding no holes and nodded to herself. She glanced at the cell phone that lay on the seat next to her. Still nothing. With a long breath, she lowered the window of the SUV just enough to throw out the cigarette butt. Just as it hit the pavement, the Motorola started to sing 'Strangers in the Night'. She first shut the window, then grabbed the phone.

"Yes?"

"It's me," a male voice said on the other end, "I don't have a lot of time."

"Okay, then just report."

"There's not much," the voice said, then paused. "No women here, not for that purpose anyway. Where are you? Weren't you on your way?"

"I was," she nodded. "I ran into some problems. I'm down in Santa Rosa again. Should I drive back up?"

"No. No, we've been ordered to pull out. Hold on."

Footsteps echoed through the phone. She held her breath until they passed. In the meantime, she checked her inside mirror. No sign of that blond cop turned kidnapper.

When the man's whisper continued, it was even quieter than before. "Listen, I'm not sure if this is such a good idea."

"Me coming up? Why not? You just told me there were no women there."

"That's not what I meant."

She glanced in all three mirrors while asking, "M, what's going on? What is he doing?"

"That's not for a phone conversation," he remarked and let out a loud breath. "Look, I have to go. I'll activate the transmitter once we're on the move."

She nodded. "Okay, I'll be waiting."

The man hung up the phone and walked out into a corridor. His shoes were as quiet on the concrete as his whisper had been; they walked him to a large room that had been the HQ but now stood virtually empty. He slipped the cell phone into his jeans, lifted a box from the floor and carried it outside.

The blonde opened the glove compartment and removed a GPS device from it. As she pulled her hand back, a shiny, white piece of paper fell out. She picked it up from the floor, and flipped it over. It was an unframed, somewhat creasy photograph, but it made her smile. She always carried them with her, the happy faces of her family in front of Disneyland's Sleeping Beauty castle.

"Don't be cheating on us, Bas," she whispered. She looked at each face for a full second, then gently placed the photograph on the dashboard. Then she switched on the GPS receiver.

--

Tony and Michelle, hands tied behind their backs, a guy named Marco, to their right, John to their left and one other thug whose name Tony didn't know stepped into the hot late morning, which was getting hotter by the minute. The sun was blazing from the sky, doing its job with a dedication. A red helicopter was waiting a hundred yards ahead, its rotors spinning slowly above its cabin.

With the adrenaline that had rushed into his system since Kreuk's people had come for them, Tony was fully awake now, and he could almost smell Michelle's nervousness. They both knew it, it was now or never. Out in the field, twenty yards from the helicopter and fifty from the woods, Michelle glanced at him. Tony gave such a slight nod that it was almost unnoticeable. But she noticed.

They moved simultaneously. Tony first sent a hard sidekick into Marco, then a back kick into the guy behind him, both hits coming almost within the same second. Meanwhile, Michelle had spun and kicked John in the gut. When he reflexively went down, she front-kicked his nose, breaking it. John's face instantly got covered in red and he put both hands over his nose for protection, staying on his knees. Michelle kicked him again, in the head, sending him down.

The front door flew open. Marco glanced towards it, and took a step towards Tony, who kicked him again, this time frontally. Marco fell back and stayed on the ground. The nameless thug went for his weapon. Tony had anticipated this and prevented the action with a straight kick right where the guy's shoulder holster was, crushing the metal of the weapon into the man's ribs, causing him to flinch and grab his chest for a second.

John had tried to get up from the ground, so Michelle gave him another kick in the head, sending him over to the other side of consciousness. She had just spun to help Tony when three shots were fired into the air.

Michelle gave up. Tony froze. Kreuk was there, and he had them at gunpoint. Other men were already running to the scene.

Wordlessly, both of them kneeled into the dirt. _It's over, _Tony thought. _We're dead. _

Marco picked himself up and crouched over John to bring him about. Kreuk was holding something black in one hand and his weapon in the other. While approaching Tony and Michelle, he shifted all items into his left, then stopped in front of the couple. Without a warning, he backhanded both of them with a single hard blow, hitting Tony first, causing the world to go black before his eyes for a second. Tony's cheek caught fire, heat erupted in his ear. Kreuk's fist could have been a rock; Tony wouldn't have been surprised if the blow had caused a bone to break in his chin. Glad that it was him and not Michelle who'd caught the full impact of Kreuk's blow, Tony worked his jaw to check; the bones seemed alright.

He glanced at Michelle, trying to tell her through his eyes just how sorry he was for failing her. She didn't look back at him. She was staring straight at Kreuk, soldiering it out. No tears.

Kreuk took one step back, himself staring at Tony, with eyes colder than Tony'd ever seen them. Tony guiltily lowered his eyes but than raised his head again. _Please, just leave Michelle alone._

"Stand up, Almeida."

With guns merrily waiting to fire, Tony knew to obey without hesitation. He slowly rose to his feet, now looking straight at Kreuk. As soon as Tony was up, Kreuk shoved his right hand between Tony's legs and grabbed his scrotum, tugging at it and squeezing it like an orange.

Eyes widening in pain, Tony moaned but refused to yell out. With sweat protruding from his every pore, he tried to press his thighs against Kreuk's hand. Someone grabbed his hair from behind, forcing him to stay upright.

Not letting go, Kreuk leaned in until his lips touched Tony's left ear. "Next time," he whispered, "I will cut these off... And then I will feed them to her while you're watching. Do you understand?"­

"Y..yes," Tony mouthed, groaning loudly with pain as Kreuk squeezed even harder.

Then Kreuk suddenly let go, leaving Tony feeling like he'd been sitting on hot coals.

"Down on your knees."

In a vain attempt to avoid causing himself even more agony, Tony crouched first, slowly sinking toward the ground. Each ever so slight move re-ignited the fire below. Kreuk knew too well what he was doing than to allow Tony any time to recover. Tony cursed the Dutchman and his giant hand while putting one knee down and finally the other, fighting what was right up there with the worst pains he'd ever felt. The position certainly didn't help relieve it; on the contrary.

Kreuk watched him, just standing there. It was full ten seconds before Tony finally dared let out the breath he'd been holding. When he breathed in, it was a shallow breath; anything else was asking for too much. All he wanted was to lie down in fetal position and be given time to recover, then murder Kreuk with his bare hands.

Glancing at Michelle, he saw a few tears flowing down her gentle face now. Her cheek had turned red, but the tears were not due to that.

Kreuk, obviously satisfied that Tony was under control, threw the black hoods to Marco.

"I need them to arrive to Sanchez without further injuries. Load them into the helicopter, make sure the ropes are tight. And give him some ice," he added with a grin.

--

To Jack, the hour in the back of the van must have been the longest in a long time. The dust in the blanket kept entering his airways and he kept putting up a fight against its trying to get him to sneeze. He hardly dared breathe, to minimize the dust intake and the chances of Ed hearing him. By will power alone, and forcing his thoughts in other directions, he managed to stay in control of his response to the dust... He felt Ed's presence as if the man was sitting right next to him. From the spatial arrangement of the boxes in the van, he knew that Ed had to be on the other side of them, but if those boxes fell... Colin's SIGSauer was still in his hand, ready to fire. Still a bit weak and achy from the interrogation and the hunger, his body tried to make him nauseated when the van reached the hill road and started riding serpentines. While still determined to fight back, Jack readied himself for anything. If he had to give away his position, he'd shoot to kill.

When the van finally eased to a stop, Jack tensed even more. He heard Ed move Robin's body and drag it across the floor. The doors opened.

"You got him?" Eric called from outside.

"Yeah. Time to get rid of the bastard." Ed jumped down, pulled the dead body out of the van. "I almost missed my breakfast 'cause of him."

Jack peered outside from behind the boxes, seeing Ed drop Wilson's body in the woods. As he and Eric marched back, Jack crouched low behind the boxes. Ed slammed the doors shut, getting in the front seat next to Eric a few seconds later. When the van began to roll again, Jack threw the blanket to the side, and sat up.

When they next stopped, Jack went into a combat crouch, waiting for them to open the door. They didn't, but he heard them leave the van and talk, their voices fading away. He dared open one door slowly and waited. When no shots were fired, he opened the other door, too, and jumped to the grass, finding it a little strange that they'd stopped in the middle of the open field, not driving the van down to the underground garage. The tunnel was closed. Jack couldn't shake off the feeling that this was a trap.

He peered behind the door again, seeing Ed and Eric disappear inside the hideout. Pistol at a 45 degree angle from his body, Jack ran behind the next tree for a better view of the area. He had no visual of anyone. Even the squad car that had been in front of the hideout earlier was gone. He saw nothing, he heard nothing, but he couldn't wait any longer.

"Go," he ordered himself, coming out from behind the tree.

He'd just begun to run towards the building when it exploded. Glass, fire and metal came flying his way as a giant fireball engulfed the house. The blast threw him to the ground, deafening him. Jack grabbed his face to protect it just as a heat wave from hell crawled over him, singing the back of his hands and his neck. Another explosion tore down the rest of the building, setting the surrounding trees on fire. A long series of blasts shook the ground while more charges exploded under Jack's body, in the tunnels. Suddenly, the hatch door closest to Jack flew ten feet high, blown out of its hinges by the enormous pressure that had built up underground, the newly created opening setting free a giant yellow demon that hungrily leaned towards Jack and threatened to devour him.


	13. Travel Plans

_**A/N: **The present chapter's upload was delayed by... let's say, male interference ;-). And unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to finish the story by the end of the year. In case I don't get a chance to update again before the holidays, have a great holiday season and some quality family time. Hope you enjoy the chapter!_

* * *

The chopper flight was more like riding a bike across a rocky desert. The aircraft was old, noisy, weathered and beaten, flying with reluctance but also with persistence. The metal body of the cabin was an oven, heating up the already hot air to the point of staleness.

Tony's clothes were soaked with perspiration. The salty liquid, the only source of humidity, slowly streamed down his cheeks and face, and ran into his eyes, onto his lips, down his neck. The black hood, loosely bound around his neck, attracted the hot rays of the sun like a magnet, bathing his face in sweat. The fabric was stubbornly stuck to his skin, almost closing off any passage of air, and generally serving like his own personal greenhouse. Sometimes, he could spy his own feet below, but not nearly enough oxygen came through that opening at the bottom of the hood. Between his legs lay a blue plastic bag that had once contained ice. The water had melted into a puddle, rendering his jeans embarrassingly wet. His stomach howled like a young wolf, clearly audible despite the rotor noise. He tried to ignore it, yet his body - trained as it was – persistently insisted on reminding him that it continued to have some pretty basic needs.

Michelle was next to him on the wooden bench, although their bodies hardly touched. Sometimes, when the chopper skewed, his body would connect with hers for a moment, assuring him for the twentieth time that she was still there. Tony knew that that guy, Marco, was close by, too, keeping watch, while Kreuk was in the cockpit, but he didn't know who else was there. Not letting his guard down, he tried to make out everyone's actions by listening, but other than a few words every now and then, he could catch no conversation. One word kept falling, though: Sanchez. Tony concluded Sanchez was the guy they were about to meet.

"We're there," Marco suddenly said from somewhere opposite Tony, "Take my advice, both of you, don't cause any trouble."

And then, suddenly, the chopper's nose pitched. Tony's rear slid sidewards on the narrow bench, almost falling off it. He pushed himself back up and closer to Michelle again.

"Where is 'there'?" Michelle tried.

"Come on, Michelle…" Tony could hear Marco chuckle. "I can't tell you that. Just remember what I said. Kreuk is downright human compared to these people."

--

The blazing tower of fire floated like a raving ghost over Jack for a second, then bounced back to its container. The massive steel door that the blast had catapulted up was still rocketing into the sky when Jack uncovered his face for a moment and saw it. Without wasting a second on thinking, he moved to get out of the door's deadly trajectory. He'd made six full rotations before it landed right where Jack had been. The heavy thump sent vibrations through the ground, all the way to Jack. He felt them, but the noise from the impact seemed to his ears to have come from two miles away...

_Too loud. Too close_, he rationalized his loss of hearing. _ Hopefully it's just temporary._

But he had to find some cover, fast. From his knees, he jumped up and darted in the direction of the van. The fire's intensity warmed his back, even from a far. He ran, not stopping, not looking back even when a second hidden hatch blew up not too far away. Like distant fireworks, more and more charges exploded inside the building, finally setting the entire house ablaze. Glass shattered as windows blew out of their frames, hungry flames breaking out of their cement prison from each new hole that opened for them. Jack finally reached the vehicle and crouched behind a front wheel. He quickly surveyed himself, finding no injuries and, content, let out a long breath. Then he peered from behind the van's hood, now finally seeing the giant fireball that the hideout had become.

And finally, he had some time to think. No-one could have survived this. _Where are Tony and Michelle? Did Kreuk take them along? Or am I late?_

The house catapulted a six foot long piece of steel towards the van. Jack stood and leaned against the van, arms hugging his head, and used his weight to help stabilize the van. The pipe slapped the van with an angry clang, but couldn't flip it over.

_Lucky it was just a pipe... _

Jack went back to his observation position. Smoldering debris lay scattered across the free space between the woods and the hideout. A complex stench hung in the air; of burned rubber, plastic, fuel, wood, electrical appliances and burned meat. Watching the still flaming holes in the ground, he realized that the underground tunnels had turned the grass field into a mine field. A new underground door could blow up at any time, and he had no idea where the hatches were.

He looked around for something else to cover behind. The trees within safe distance were too thin, and apart from them, there was nothing. He had no choice. He was caught. _Hopefully Eric had enough brains not to park on top of a hatch... _

He was getting antsy. He wanted to move. Each minute that passed burned down his chances of finding Tony and Michelle a little more. He had just one lead, and it was being devoured by hungry flames. _I have to go in. If the building crashes, it'll bury everything. I'll never find anything._

Minefield or not, his mind was made up.

--

The helicopter landed softer than Tony had anticipated. The rotors were still spinning when the doors slid open and the stomp of heavy boots announced newcomers. There was a loud clang like metal connecting with the chopper's body. Tony tried to feel Michelle next to him.

"Sweetheart, you ok?" he whispered lowly.

"Fine," she whispered back, in a tone that didn't allow him to judge her composure.

"Hang on."

A shiny military boot appeared in Tony's small field of vision.

"Get her," the person said, at the same time unbuckling Tony's seat belt. Two strong hands, each belonging to a different man, grabbed Tony's each arm, and pulled him up to his feet.

Tony's legs were still trembling from the flight, and he took a couple of seconds to steady up.

"Let's go, asshole."

With a sigh, Tony took a step or two forward, then stopped. Where did the cabin end? Where had they been taken to? He needed to see their surroundings. The hood had to go.

"Muévete!" some impatient bastard pushed him.

"I can't see a damn thing. You want me to break my neck? Or are you gonna carry me down?"

Someone slammed a rifle into Tony's stomach. The blow almost ground his intestines.

"Silencio!"

_Oh son of a bitch_. His strength left Tony for a moment. If not for the men holding him upright, he would have dropped to his knees. He couldn't breathe.

"Yeah, I'mma carry ya down," the same voice retorted in an audible Spanish accent. "_Muerto_, si no te callas! Comprendes?"

_Fine, I'll shut up. Oh goddamnit... Lucky my spleen's already out._

"Cállate, claro?"

"OK..." Tony managed to whisper.

"Bien. Vamos."

They practically dragged him down the ramp, onto softer ground, into somewhat cooler air.

"Vamos, vamos! Ándale, ándale!"

_Patience sure ain't a virtue here... _Tony marched along, pushing the pain to the back of his mind, and instead almost desperately tried to absorb any hints as to where they were. The little bit of air that made it through to his nostrils seemed to have a salty smell to it. He quickly did the math: it was possible. At maybe an hour's flight, constantly headed West, this could be the coast. He didn't hear the ocean though, just shouts, steps, barking dogs, and the slowly fading noise from the helicopter.

And then, too soon, his overheated body was hit by cold. The building they entered was at least 50F colder than the outside air. A carpet of goose bumps possessed Tony's body, the temperature drop shocked his bladder, instantly provoking a strong urge to urinate, although he hadn't drunk more than a few drops of water in hours. Fighting it, he noted this skillfully added element of discomfort, guessing that neither him nor Michelle would be allowed the use of the bathroom any time soon.

Still, he kept his focus. Every few yards, a new chilling air stream from above would whip his neck. The ventilation noise was too loud to be a modern A/C system. The building had to be old; but that didn't necessarily mean that it was badly secured. The air smelled of nothing in particular, and apart from the ventilation and their own footsteps, it was quiet. For a while, he couldn't tell whether they were above ground or under it, but then a negative slope in his knees and ankles finally gave him some sense of the geography. His highest priority, on top of all the clue-collecting, was measuring the distance to the exit. He counted every step he took, and allowed nothing to distract him. This information was crucial.

--

Jack had returned to the van, and found a fire blanket, a small fire extinguisher, and a towel, which he'd wetted with water from a plastic bottle. Thus armed, he headed out, carefully making his way towards what was left of the building. Where the front door had once been, there stood a hole five times the size. He decided to enter there.

_Showtime._

He tied the wet towel over his nose and mouth, and threw the fire blanket over his head. Half closing his eyes for protection from the biting smoke, Jack stepped inside. This wasn't the first time that he'd forced himself into a suffocating, furnace-hot enclosure, but it was one of the toughest. Without any protective clothing, it was like he'd caught a severe sun burn all over his body. The heat entered his ears, stung at his eyes, forcing him to squint more than he wanted to, more than was safe to do. But he couldn't turn back.

The wet cloth was cooling the portion of air that entered his lungs, making breathing possible without feeling like he was burning up from the inside out. It also helped filter the poisonous carbon-monoxide fumes from the air, buying him time before the gas could render him unconscious. Time, of which he didn't have much, and that he had to use wisely. He was still nearly deaf, and would remain so for another few minutes. So he moved in deeper, relying on his other senses, feet wary of each step he took, eyes watchful, careful not to find himself under a falling piece of roof structure as it came tumbling down.

The HQ had been utterly destroyed, and he could see the woods surrounding the house through the missing portions of the walls. There was no equipment, no computers, files, folders, just left-over pieces of tables and chairs, and some wiring from the walls.

_Kreuk took care of everything before leaving. Not a surprise._

Jack surveyed the room from end to end. In the South corner, he spotted the remains of Ed and Eric. Ed's upper half lay on its back, separated from the legs by about ten feet. His face was charred beyond recognition. Eric was no longer one body, either. Pieces of extremities lay spread across a twenty feet radius. It was only by the pieces of clothing stuck to the body that Jack could identify the body.

A desk crashed to the floor just in front of Jack, and he turned away from the remains.

_Move on. Quickly._

Like the HQ, Kreuk's private office had been cleared out. The once neatly organized floor was now just naked concrete. A couple stacks of paper were burning in a corner next to the long table that had been Kreuk's desk. Jack's first impulse was to run and salvage them, but just then, a chunk of concrete the size of a couch crushed on top of the papers, burying them underneath it. He reconsidered. Whatever Kreuk had left here couldn't have been important anyway.

He had one more thing to check. As quickly as he could, He took to the corridor. The doors to the rooms close to the HQ had been blown out of their hinges. The further he went, the less damaged the rooms seemed. With each step he took towards his friends' holding room, his heartbeat began to rise. The last door still held on to its frame. He put his foot to the door, hesitated, then pushed the door open.

The room was destroyed, but Tony and Michelle weren't there. With some relief, Jack nodded to himself. Now he could leave.

The walls on this end of the building were still standing, so his only way out was by heading back towards the hottest center of the fires. He readjusted the blanket and started, carefully choosing his step. Suddenly, walls crackled ahead, and a portion of the roof crashed ahead, cordoning off access to the HQ.

_You're out of time, Jack,_ he told himself.

Tossing the fire extinguisher to the ground, he ran to the first big enough hole in the wall, and crawled through it. Losing the blanket and the towel, he ran as fast as he could. Ten seconds later, the East side of the building collapsed completely, burying HQ, Kreuk's office and the two bodies under a mountain of debris.

--

Someone shouted, "Alto!" and Tony stopped, committing to memory the number of steps taken from the entrance.

Finally, some guy pulled the annoying hood off Tony's head. Ignoring the uniformed thugs by his side, Tony first looked behind him, to find Michelle. She was there, all defiance and resistance, and locked eyes with him for a second. He stole a glance at the corridor behind her. It was narrow and bright, only about fifteen feet long, and led up; what waited around the corner was anyone's guess.

It was a squeaky door that opened for them; it closely resembled a prison door: it only lacked the vertical bars. It had a magnetic card reader, which clicked open when one of the Latino thugs, Pablo, touched a key card to it.

"Move!"

--

By the time Jack was driving away from the scene, emergency vehicles were on approach. At the main road, he took a left, away from their howling.

"Dammit!" he cursed loudly, slamming an open hand against the steering wheel. He'd come out empty-handed, again. Why were the bad guys always at least one step ahead of the good ones?

His every plan had failed, but whatever Wilson had done for Kreuk had apparently worked. Optimism was a tough thing to find... Then he remembered: _Maybe I can still warn that company_, he mused, _it might not be too late yet_. He checked the jacket's pockets for the cell phone. It wasn't there.

"Son of a bitch. Nothing works today."

A brown Ford Escort overtook him and Jack followed it with his eyes until it disappeared. The hideout was history. He still needed clues. Desperately. Now, the only thing he had left was this very vehicle.

"Let's start here," he mumbled.

Not slowing down, he reached over to the glove compartment. It was locked and wouldn't yield. Jack pulled the Microtech Halo knife from the jacket and set to work on the lock. It caved in within seconds. One-handedly, he emptied everything onto the seat next to him, and started to go through the items while occasionally glancing at the road ahead.

--

The space behind the first door was large enough to offer shelter to at least six people, each in their own bed, but it was empty. At the end of it stood another door, this one with a glass window.

"There's your room," Pablo said while opening that door for his prisoners to pass through. Only half the size, with pebbles and dirt for a floor, rotting and crumbling walls, no windows nor air conditioning, this smaller room was considerably warmer than the rest of the building had been and the only thing that seemed to live there was a strong, sickening odor.

Ignoring the smell at first, Tony instinctively scanned the room, like he habitually did whenever entering unknown territory. In one wall, there was a rusty pipe with a faucet that looked like it hadn't been opened in decades, but still might have its lucky day someday. On the floor underneath the faucet was something that, in its old days, might have been a wash-basin, but judging by the looks of it, it had likely been doubling as a urinal and who knows what else. The drain had been made three times larger, and the whole thing looked like it was connected to the sewage system. At first, Tony attributed the dank smell to the mildew on the walls. At the second sniff, though, he recognized the unmistakable stench of decay. He methodically scanned the floor, soon making out a dead rat in a corner to his left. He frowned. What was these people's aim? To infect him and Michelle with the plague or some other funky disease?

"Stand still," Pablo told Michelle, and Tony turned his attention to the tiny Mexican. The man stuck a knife between Michelle's ropes and cut them with the precision of a professional. He freed Tony's arms, too.

"Have a nice day," he then said through a grin, turning to leave.

Michelle spun to face him. "Hey, wait!"

Pablo was still holding the knife in his hand, and lifted it higher, but Michelle didn't seem to care.

"You can't leave us here like this!" she yelled. "We haven't eaten in more than twenty hours, we've hardly had any water since. The human body cannot go without water longer than a day. So, unless your boss's plan is to carry our _corpses _out of here, I suggest you tell him he'd better feed us, pronto!"

She pointed at the dead rat in the corner. "And I do hope he's taken into account the possibility of us getting a fatal infection and passing it on to all of you! I assume you have biohazard suits stashed somewhere in this hole, right?"

Her voice hadn't faltered. Her stance was wide and stable, her posture decisive, her eyes burning with fury. Tony had rarely seen her like this since they left CTU. Actually, he wasn't sure if he'd _ever _seen her like this.

Pablo grinned nonchalantly and gestured at the faucet in the wall. "_There_'s water," he said triumphantly, "And as for food, it's Colonel's call. Now sit."

While he was pulling the door closed, Michelle launched herself at it, eventually not accomplishing more than to bang at the safety glass with an open hand. "Bastards!"

Tony sighed, stepping over to her. "Hey, com'ere. Come." He took her in his arms, but she wiggled out.

"They'll just let us starve, Tony, they'll let us die here in this rat hole!"

"They won't, Sweetheart," he whispered, trying to sound convincing.

"I'm so tired-"

He stepped closer to her again, reaching for her arm, which she pulled back.

"This heat, this whole day, I haven't been this exhausted in my whole life-"

"Shhhh.... It's ok-"

"My leg hurts-"

"I know..." _That was my fault._

"This place stinks so much I'm about to throw up-"

" 'Chelle..."

"I don't know what they want with us now after e-"

"Michelle...." he said with authority in his tone, interrupting her. She looked at him _that _way. The way that always broke his heart. He reached for her again and this time pulled her close, without allowing her to stop him. She sighed, while he closed his arms around her.

"Honey," he whispered lowly, "you got to keep it together now... Trust me. It's gonna be okay."

She curled deep into his embrace. "Why are they doing this?"

"I don't know," he sighed, sliding a hand into her hair.

They were both quiet for a few seconds, and while he was still trying to find words to reassure her, she admitted to his heart,

"I'm scared," And then, she finally fell silent.

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. All his training, everything they collectively knew about terrorists, hostage situations, combat, escape, nothing had mattered today. These bastards were too damn organized to allow for mistakes. And he had been too scared to leave Michelle alone with them, too afraid for her life to try to fight back. Was there anything he could have done? Should they have tried to flee during transport? Could he have used Robin as leverage? _No, Kreuk would have killed Michelle._ He stood with her, swaying slightly from side to side, like he might have tried to calm a child. However he turned it, he saw nothing he could have handled differently.

"Michelle," he cooed in her ear. _If it's the last thing I do..._ "I _will _get you out of here, I swear."

--

Jack had found a quiet enough place in the woods to hide the van and search it in peace. He'd already turned it inside out, combed through all the boxes stashed in the back, inspected every single shred of paper, every piece of trash. He'd cut open the seats and looked inside them. He'd even crawled underneath the vehicle, and checked its chassis, just to be thorough.

And despite all that effort, he came up empty. Not that the van was _clean _but it was clean of anything helpful.

"Damn it!" he yelled and kicked the closest wheel in pure frustration. The van didn't hit back. Jack kicked it again.

"What am I gonna do?"

He grabbed a pack of Marlboros and a lighter from the van. Lighting a cigarette, he took a deep drag, allowing the smoke full access to his lungs, eagerly accepting the nicotine's invasion of his body, and half-sat onto the van's hood.

"Think, Jack, think."

He hadn't eaten in a long time, so the cigarette almost made him dizzy. But it also served to calm him down a little, which he welcomed.

His clothes still smelled of fire, and the smoke from the hideout had reached his current position. He was starting to get used to that odor. There had been many fires here lately. Including the one that started this whole thing, more than a week ago; when he and Josh found Tom's corpse in the woods.

And suddenly, he realized, _That's it! _

Parking the cigarette between his lips, he jumped back inside the van, reveresed out of the woods and back onto the road.

Like a daredevil, he drove through the dust, raising clouds of dirt along the road. _The assassins never frisked them, _he mused, _If Kreuk didn't either, I might get lucky._

He easily found the place where he'd watched Alan and Terence being murdered, and stopped the van by the side of the road, not wanting to destroy tire marks that the assassins had left with their fake police cruiser, and continued on foot, following the marks. He spotted Terence and Alan from a far. Their bodies looked like they hadn't been moved by humans since he left them, but there were fresh bite marks on them, small chunks of flesh missing. Jack looked around, spotting no predators, then approached the bodies. Alan lay on his back, Terence on his stomach. Jack sighed at the stupidity of the two. If they'd gone to the cops, they might have been able to prevent most of the day's events. Assuming the police would have arrested Kreuk quickly enough.

Careful as ever, Jack put on Eric's gloves again and crouched between the corpses. He started with Terence's body, tapping him down, working his way from head to ankle, finding - nothing. Not taking any chances, he turned the body around­. Terence used to be a relatively good-looking man but his face now wore a layer of dirt and smudges of blood. Jack continued his search. Nothing.

Hope began to fade.

He turned to Alan with a pleading expression on his face. "Please, give me _something_..."

He checked Alan's shirt, jacket, jeans pockets. They were all empty. Concerned, Jack hesitated before giving himself a final push, rolling Alan over to his stomach. He started at the shoulders again, carefully feeling each inch of skin, further and further down.

And then there it was. Something hard was lying in the small of Alan's back. Full of hope, Jack lifted Alan's jacket and shirt. Taped to the skin, an unmarked CD waited in a hard plastic sleeve.

Jack smiled and pulled it free. It seemed undamaged.

"Let's hope this isn't 50 Cent," he mumbled to himself. "Thanks, guys."

He looked around before getting up. As he retraced his steps to the vehicle, he dragged his left foot across the dusty ground to destroy his shoeprints. Then he drove off.

While driving, he took a closer look at the disc in his hand. It was a DVD, meaning that he absolutely needed a computer to look at it. The closest computers were at the foreman's office, the cottage where he'd first met Kreuk. He decided to try. Ab was unlikely to be in there at this time of the day.

Jack made it to the cottage in record time, ignoring all traffic rules. Ab's truck wasn't outside. The door was slightly ajar. Jack stepped in carefully, half expecting to find the foreman lying dead on the floor, but there was no-one in the room.

A Dell desktop computer stood undisturbed on the floor under the desk, connected to a 22'' monitor in the middle of the desk. There was also an i-Book, and Jack grabbed it, pulled a chair close to the window and sat down, so that he could keep an eye on the area in front of the house. Ab wasn't much of a security freak. Just like he left his doors open, he didn't believe in passwords, either. He'd always joked that people should be able to access work-relevant information if he ever burned alive in a wildfire in this damn state. Jack now thanked Ab's refusal to be cautious. He started up the computer, pushed the DVD into the drive and hoped for useful information.

--

Tony had no idea how much time had passed when he finally heard the door to the outer room open. He looked down on his left wrist but found that, somewhere between the chopper crash, and getting hunted and abducted, he'd lost his watch. He also glanced at his naked ring finger and wondered why the hell he still hadn't married Michelle yet? Yeah, the idea of the old wedding date also being the new one was good, but right now - right now, he wished they hadn't waited. He should have just taken her to Vegas, or to Hawaii and made her his wife again.

_Yeah, Hawaii would have been nice_, he thought with nostalgia.

_Would be nice, Almeida, will be, _he corrected himself inwardly. _You can still do it_.

Michelle was sitting next to him, her head on his shoulder and was calm, at least on the outside. Tony kissed her hair, turning his thoughts to something more tangible than coulda, shoulda, woulda...

_Ninety-six steps to the exit, setting aside the fact that there might be a maze of hallways we've never seen, surveillance we don't know about, armed guards we'd have to take out without a weapon and surrounding premises we've never laid eyes on. And possibly an ocean at the door step._

He caressed Michelle's hair gently. He'd managed to get the rusty pipe in the wall to provide them with clean enough water to drink, and he'd buried the dead rat under dirt, in the furthest corner of the room. Then, he'd cleared away pebbles from a large enough area for both of them to sit down on, and since then, he and Michelle had been sitting there quietly, wordlessly, leaning on each other and trying to rest. They didn't move from that spot on the floor even when the door opened again and revealed the Mexican who'd put them in there.

"Get up," Pablo ordered.

Reluctantly, Tony sat up.

"Come on," he whispered to Michelle, for the twentieth time brushing his lips against her hair. Wth a sigh, he stood, slowly. He helped her up, and held her close while she leaned on him.

"Wise choice," the Mexican said, then stepped back. "Get over here."

Tony gently squeezed Michelle's hip, whispering, "Come."

The door that opened to the corridor stood open. Pablo gestured towards it.

"Meet Colonel Sanchez."

Despite his title, the man who appeared wore a spotlessly white civilian suit and walked in on silent heels, without any haste. He was 5 foot 3, at best, and unshaven. He held his head high, staring at Tony from underneath dense, black eyebrows that almost seemed to swallow his eyes. The slight asymmetry of his face seemed deliberate, just like the long scar across his left cheek, a badly healed cut that would forever remind him of the evil streets of Caracas.

With one look, Tony knew that this was a man who'd seen it all, a man who backed off from nothing, one who shunned no murder to achieve his goals. An uneasy feeling began to settle in the pit of his stomach when Colonel Sanchez raised a hand to his perfectly kept moustache and softly and slowly twisted its ends. Then the man took off the white hat he was wearing, revealing thick, black, perfectly blow-dried scalp hair, that looked like it knew no aging. He threw the hat to another guy in the room, who caught it.

Behind the Colonel, a skinny boy dressed in nothing more than rags stepped in hesitantly; barefoot, in grey shorts and a brown t-shirt, which both wore numerous holes, he remained by the door with a cloth in his hands.

Sanchez looked over Tony and Michelle, without addressing them. Then he glanced at his white leather shoes and frowned.

"Miguel!"

Immediately, the little boy ran over to the man, dropped to his knees and began to clean the shoes, while Sanchez kept his hungry eyes on Michelle, never once looking down at Miguel, who worked quickly, almost not even daring to breathe. When he was done, he stood, head low, and waited. César Sanchez inspected the shoes from all sides.

"You missed a spot, _cáncamo_!" he shouted, and grabbed Miguel by an ear, forcing him down.

"Lo siento, señor, lo siento," the boy apologized, his eyes watering.

Sanchez let go of Miguel, dropping him to the floor. Miguel quickly finished the job, then crouched down by the door, holding his ear. Tony could see he wanted to cry, but didn't dare. Tony's stomach churned at the scene, but he knew better than to provoke Sanchez now.

Sanchez walked his perfect shoes to an arm's length distance to Tony and scratched his moustache again. "Como te llamas?"

_What's this, a Spanish test? _Tony mocked, unnerved, but then answered, avoiding provocation.

"Soy Tony Almeida."

"Bien," the Colonel nodded. "Mi nombre es César Sanchez. El Colonel para ti. Quién es ella?" he asked, tilting his head towards Michelle.

"Es mi mujer," Tony replied curtly, omitting the technicality of them not actually being married at the moment. He also refused to address Sanchez as Colonel.

Sanchez stretched his lips, forming a thin grin rather than a smile while he glanced at Tony's bare fingers. "No ring," he remarked. Tony immediately made him as a Venezuelan. "But you're married?"

"Yeah," Tony lied. "Someone stole them today. Could have been one of your men."

Sanchez gripped Tony's throat almost faster than Tony could see the hand rise. He couldn't have prevented Sanchez from strangling him if he so wanted, but luckily he didn't have to try. El Colonel just pushed Tony backwards into Pablo. Tony bounced off the Mexican, like from a trampoline, then as he stepped out to regain his footing, something heavy hit his upper back; he broke.

"Stop!" Michelle yelled, and Tony could only quickly see some other guy grab her before another blow sent him to the floor.

"No quiero explicaciónes," César said in a voice that completely lacked emotion. "Or speculations. Comprendes?"

"Si..."

"Si, Colonel!"

Tony refused to repeat the words. César kicked him in the stomach. Tony curled up, coughing.

--

The deeper Jack got into the files on the disc, the more certain he was that he'd found the evidence - or at least a part of it - that Tom had collected against Kreuk before resorting to blackmail. What he'd seen so far had been good; so good in fact that he wondered why Alan hadn't mentioned it when they were alone. Maybe he was scared, maybe stupid. Either way, the evidence was in the right hands now. One way or another, it had to reach the authorities.

Jack clicked open a folder. It contained photos, organized in folders, by dates and places where they had been taken. Jack chose one folder and started a slide show. It was nighttime, in a harbor. There were docks, a truck, and a group of people, men and women. Some of them looked familiar. One was Bas Kreuk. There were also Ed, Eric and Marco, and of course, Blondie. Jack recognized many faces, but not all. Most of them were Kreuk's henchmen. Some had the same kind of an appearance but were Latinos, and not part of Kreuk's crew.

One guy was all different. He looked important, and seemed like he loved looking important. He stood with Kreuk, smoking a pipe. A black ankle-long coat covered the white suit that he was wearing. His face was hidden by his right hand in which he was holding the pipe.

In another photograph, Tom had caught a frontal close up of the pipe-smoking man. He was Hispanic, had a big scar on his cheek and had the look of a ruthless killer. This guy was Kreuk's associate, there was no doubt. Maybe even today. Jack committed the face to his memory, but also decided to print it out before leaving.

There were many women in the photos: all Latinas. None of them were armed, or well-dressed. On the contrary. They were victims. Men rushed them from the belly of the boat to the truck, while others held weapons at the ready, pointed in the general direction of the women.

Jack glanced out of the window. Still no sign of Ab. _Good_. He located the next folder and clicked it open. Something was telling him he was running out of time.

--

The pain in Tony's back still hadn't faded away when Sanchez's strode away from him.

"Bien... I'll now tell you my plans for you."

Pablo shoved a foot under Tony's ribs, and forced him to roll over. "It's disrespectful not to look at your boss while he's talking to you."

Sanchez nodded, "Gracias, Pablo... Tony Almeida, you got to learn to show some respect. Or the rest of your life will be a very short rest of your life."

Tony ignored César and stole a glance at Michelle instead. He couldn't tell how much fear there was behind her mask of stoicism, but he did read pain in her eyes.

"I like business with Bas Kreuk," Sanchez began, "Busy man. Drugs, computers, women, Bas _loves _women. And when Bas needs fresh meet, he calls César. God knows Venezuela has enough _putas_, all dumber than my dog's ass. You just tell 'em what they wanna hear. They believe anything. They want a job in the Land of the Free. In restaurant, factory, shop. They just come with my men, _voluntarily!_ Then it's a one way ticket. South to North." He paused to look at Michelle's face. "And here, they do the only thing women are good for. Sex."

_No..._ Tony started to feel sick to his stomach. What the stench in the room hadn't accomplished, the sole thought of Michelle in a similar position did.

César approached Michelle, stopping a couple of steps away from her. He greedily stared at her lips, his mouth half open.

"I understand that Bas didn't want to kill you. You're too pretty to die so soon."

Michelle narrowed her eyes, looking at him with disgust.

He ambled away from her. "Like I said, normal is, César takes women South to North. But as a special favor to my Dutch friend, I will take you North to South. Tonight - Mexico, and tomorrow - Venezuela."

When Tony glanced at Michelle, her eyes were empty.

"You, Almeida, look strong to me. You going to Perú. My friends have coalmines there, perfect to erase someone from Earth. What walks in only gets _carried _out. If you learn to keep your mouth shut, you'll be useful for a few months, maybe even a year, if you're really resistant. But hunger and no sleep usually kills most of the scum before then. But at least they've done something with their meaningless little lives before they..." he paused to remember the words, "bite the dust. Literally."

He laughed an eerie laugh, not unlike Vincent Price's demonic laughter in Michael Jackson's _Thriller_. Then he added, through a grin, "You keep talking back, _el padron _will cut out your tongue. Wouldn't be the first time."

He then snapped his fingers. "Diego. Pablo. Secure him."

The men grabbed Tony's arms, turning him over to his stomach, despite his attempt to resist. Each of them placed one booted foot on Tony's back, immobilizing him.

A third guy was still holding Michelle's arms firmly behind her.

"And you, _Princesa_," Sanchez half whispered to her while he led his right hand down her cheek; a hand which lacked the pinky. "Michelle Almeida... You got a great body. Your beauty shouldn't be wasted on such harsh forced labor, don't you agree?"

"Leave her alone!" Tony tried to shout. Diego only pressed down harder. Pablo's boot even wandered to Tony's head, pushing his face against the concrete.

César's hand travelled further down Michelle's neck and shoulder. When he arrived at her breasts, he circled them with both his hands.

Tony again tried to shout, only managing to produce indiscernible sounds. _You don't touch Michelle that way and expect to live, you damned bastard_.

Meanwhile, Sanchez's hands were caressing Michelle's rib cage and the side of her stomach. "Your final destination will be Colombia. There's a good friend of mine with a huge appetite for pretty women. He'll be happy to have you."

Tony again tried to free himself, unsuccessfully. The core of his being was screaming.

"You have luck, however," Sanchez grinned. "The whores I sell to Kreuk fuck so many men every day they stop counting. But Juanes is quite possessive. He'll want you to himself. And maybe for some of his best workers."

There was such maliciousness in his eyes that it was obvious how much he enjoyed telling her this. His hands slid down Michelle's buttocks. His words adopted a singing rhythm as he continued, "You'll service them over, and over, and over, and over and over again... For many years to come. Your entire, sorry life."

His hands arrived to her lower stomach. "By the way... The hacienda is.... in the middle of nowhere. You won't ever escape. It's so hot there, your brain would fry before you got any help."

Before he pushed his hands between her legs, Michelle suddenly leaned back, using the man who was holding her for support, then jumped up a little and lifted both her legs, attempting to knee Sanchez in the testicles. He'd obviously been expecting this reaction. He blocked her knee with his own legs, then took a step back, giving himself space to haul off.

He backhanded her so hard that the blow drew blood from her lower lip. His hand returned the other way, again slapping her, the second contact not any weaker than the first.

Tony put all the strength he had into trying to turn and managed to yell, "Back off, asshole!"

Diego had kicked Tony's side twice before Sanchez coolly drew a Walther PKK from a holster at his chest.

"Almeida, stop yelling," he said calmly, while taking two steps back. Then he pointed the pistol at Michelle's head.

All at once, Tony's blood and movements froze.

"I'm warning you for the last time, Almeida. Stay calm if you want her to live." He smiled at Michelle from behind the firearm, and licked his lips. "Do you understand, Almeida?"

"Yes."

"Good." Not lowering the weapon, he ordered to his men, "Lock him up. She needs to see something."

Michelle stared back at him without blinking.


	14. A Little Education

_**A/N: **__Happy New Year everyone! I hope you've had a wonderful holiday season, but now it's time for 24 to return - on and off the TV screen ;). Here's the newest chapter. Although it is pretty rough, I very much like it. I hope you will, too._

_**Disclaimer**__: This chapter should quite frankly be rated __**M.**__ It contains graphic violence and strong sexual references. It seemed extreme to up the rating of the entire story, but please be aware of the higher rating._

* * *

Behind the woods that surrounded Ab's office, the sun was well below its zenith. The daylight hadn't begun to fade yet, but it had gained a warm shade of gold. The evening wasn't far. The air had lost some of its heat, and branches were starting to wave and bend as if suddenly much lighter and finally able to breathe. Jack was still inside the cottage, and didn't care about the branches, the sun, the wind. He only wanted one thing.

"Come on, dammit..." he mumbled to himself after clicking closed yet another folder. "Tell me where they are..."

He stared at the folders on the screen as if they would literally tell him where to search next. The sheer number of files was overwhelming, at least for someone who was starting to feel the crunch of time. He needed to make sense of the information he had, to connect Kreuk, the Latino guy, the women, Wilson, Tony, Michelle, the software, the cocaine...

Suddenly, he stood, and rushed to Ab's desk. He yanked open the drawers two at a time. In the middle one, he found a detailed map of California. He spread it over the desk and studied the coastal area carefully, trying to visualize the topography. All that illegal ships needed was a stretch of concealed but accessible coastline, away from the Coastguard. Jack tapped an index finger on Santa Rosa and traveled from there directly towards the ocean, in a straight line: he ended up at coast in the vicinity of Bodega Bay. That seemed a very likely location, easy to reach just following the Bodega Highway. But there were miles of accessible coastline in the area, more possibilities than he could afford to check out on a hunch and hope to bump into Kreuk.

"Ok, let's narrow this down," he whispered while returning to the computer.

Before he sat down again, a folder practically jumped at him, one that he must have overlooked earlier. It had the simplest but most interesting name: _Places_.

"Son of a bitch..." he murmured, his eyes smiling.

The folder's contents seemed few - four files, named California, North America, Other places and Venezuela. Jack clicked _California_.

He didn't even fight the excitement at what he saw.

"Gotcha."

The file was one long spreadsheet comprised of names and number strings. It gave the exact longitude and latitude of the sites in question. There was an image overlay within the spreadsheet itself to which the pairs of co-ordinates were hyperlinked, so as to facilitate locating them. They were categorized by type, like business and transport, hideouts, storage... Jack sorted the data by date, starting with the most recently used, then _a priori_ eliminated all locations that had been out of use for longer than two months. He was down to ten. Five of those were too far South, between Los Angeles and San Diego. He ignored them. Five left.

He checked the computer clock. Two to three hours till sunset. Transports like these were a nightly game. So Kreuk would now be holding Tony and Michellle in another hideout, waiting for the darkness to fall. If Jack found the hideout in time he wouldn't need to do guesswork about where the ship might dock. Four sets of numbers, marked as trafficking spots, pointed to locations lined like beads on a thread along the coast around Bodega Bay. The fifth location was between Bodega Bay and the ocean, about three miles inland. It was marked as a secured compound at 38°20'58.03"N, 122°59'36.05"W.

"This is it," he concluded. "That's where they are."

He scribbled down all five sets of numbers, just in case. He stuffed the disc in an envelope, which he addressed to Chief Jim Candle, a former colleague of his from the PD days, whose integrity was not for sale. Then he left Ab's office, taking the disc with him.

--

Danielle Kreuk glanced at the still beeping GPS receiver on her dashboard. 38°20'58.24"N, 122°59'35.89"W. The signal had been roughly stationary since she'd returned to her car after that not-so-voluntary stop at BK's restroom in Sebastopol that had stolen more than forty minutes of her time. It was just her luck that a young pregnant woman would walk into the restroom and that her water would break... As a doctor, Danielle simply couldn't walk away from the girl. Both morally and professionally, she had to stay and help. But now that mother and son were in an ambulance, Danielle was finally on her way again. Marco wasn't on the move any longer, and she actually had some hope of catching up with him. Once she got out of the congested area. She needed to get on the Bodega Highway soon.

--

From behind the small safety glass window in the door of his stinking cell, Tony watched Sanchez shove his weapon in his waistband and wait. Diego and Pablo were standing behind Michelle, ready to obey whatever orders were handed down to them.

Michelle was free to move around, but she stayed still. She stared at the wall behind Sanchez and kept her head straight. From time to time, she sucked on her lower lip, tasting more of the metallic tasting drops each time. Blood flowed trom her nose too, in a thin line which parted into an upside-down V at her upper lip. She refused to clean it off, she refused to acknowledge what had happened in any way that might be read as weakness.

Tony had never been able to watch her suffer without the sight tearing him apart inside, not even when their marriage was at their worst. Back then, he'd ignore all signs because he was angry, but now... Now he wanted to take her in his arms, clean that blood away... He couldn't. He couldn't touch her, he couldn't even breathe. In his whole life, he hadn't been this scared, this helpless... or this angry.

Sanchez hadn't moved either. He waited in the center of the room, his back to the door. After a while, his third man returned, pushing a red-haired woman in front of him. She was barely in her twenties, wore only a knee-long, short-sleeved grey shirt, which was torn at one side, and tapped barefoot on the floor as she appeared in the hallway. Her face was swollen and bruised. Her nose looked like it had recently been broken and never treated. Her arms were full of scars from burns, cuts and scratches, her legs wore bruises the size of tangerines. When she noticed Sanchez in the room, her gaze immediately sunk. Her skin visibly crawled. She stepped in.

Sanchez turned towards her, unzipped his pants and then just stood there.

_Oh, God_... Tony thought, his stomach churning. He caught a trace of disgust on the woman's face but she didn't dare disobey. She walked up to the Colonel and did what was expected of her.

Tony couldn't watch the scene. He looked at Michelle instead. She stood like petrified, holding her elbows, as if frozen in time and space, from her pupils down to her heels.

"Stop," Sanchez ordered the woman after a while. She did. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down to the floor. While he zipped up his pants, he nudged her with a shoe, between the legs. "Get up!"

Staggering up, the girl pulled the shirt down to cover herself. Sanchez suddenly grabbed her, spun her around, so that her back was to Michelle, then seized the shirt at the collar and tore it in two. The falling pieces of fabric revealed her naked body, perfect in form, but scarred with whipping marks.

Michelle looked away. Tony squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, before forcing himself to keep watching. He couldn't let Michelle out of his sight. It took lots of effort to force his hurting abdomen to stretch so he could see through the window, but he paid no attention to the pain. In the pit of his stomach, fear was intensifying. His heart had wandered upwards. He realized he was beginning to tremble. He gripped the door as firmly as he could, not even aware of how hard he was holding on to it. He couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to.

"Three weeks ago," Sanchez said, "this piece of white trash was wild. Like you. And just look at what a little education can do."

He laughed devilishly. The laughter echoed back from the corridor, re-entering, amplified, through the open door. Even Tony's skin crawled.

"Get lost, bitch!" Sanchez pushed the woman away.

She quickly picked up the pieces of the shirt, tried to cover her middle with them and scurried out of the room, followed by the same man who'd brought her in.

"You too, bastardo," César said to the little boy who was still in the room. Miguel closed the door behind himself.

Diego and Pablo both remained behind Michelle, ready and watchful but keeping their distance until ordered otherwise.

"So..." Sanchez grinned while slowly approaching her. "Maybe you'll be more reasonable now, princesa, huh?" he asked, stopping at an arm's length from her, and taking a curl of her hair between his fingers. "You're not going to give me trouble, right?"

Michelle spit him in the face. "Go to Hell."

Tony gasped in shock.

Pablo motioned to grab Michelle from behind, but César raised a hand at him as a sign to stop. Slowly, he wiped the saliva from his face. Michelle stared at him with defiance, even when he slapped her.

Without hesitation, she slapped him back.

Tony thought he'd just died.

He wasn't even sure if he was still in the room.

Sanchez backhanded her, getting blood from her nose onto his white suit. She motioned to slap him, but he caught her arm in mid-air, and held it firmly, squeezing it tighter by the second.

--

Danielle had abandoned all hope of her husband contacting her again today, so she was quite surprised at seeing his number flash on the display of the phone in the holder on the dashboard. She was on Bodega Highway. Traffic was dense and hardly moving. She couldn't wait to clear the Sebastopol area. She hated trucks and she was sandwiched between them. So when Bas called, she decided not to pick up. Whatever he had to say, he could say to her in person in a little while.

--

Sanchez snapped his fingers and Pablo and Diego came. Sanchez was still holding her arm. Michelle waited until Pablo was close enough, then kicked back, using Sanchez's arm for support. Pablo fell back just enough for her to spin around and kick towards Diego, liberating her arm from César's grip in the process. He immediately lashed out at her, but she managed to block and grip his arm at the wrist. Before she could do more, Diego grabbed her right arm, and pulled her away. Diego tugged at her curly hair and caught her left arm. Then both men pulled her back.

The Colonel suddenly reached over and tore her blouse at the buttons, revealing a black bra underneath. Diego and Pablo began to force her down. She fought to stay upright until César kicked the back of her knees and broke her stance. Within seconds, her arms were pinned to the floor above her head. She pulled her legs up for protection and intertwined her feet. It was then that Tony first saw real horror in her eyes.

"There, that's better," Sanchez said while unzipping his trousers, and glanced over towards Tony with a smug look on his face.

Only now did Tony become aware of his own screaming and banging at the door. This couldn't be happening; someone would pinch him any second now and make him wake up from this nightmare. He screamed and battered the door. It was no dream.

"NO! STOP! STOP!!!" he yelled, "NO!"

Sanchez rolled his eyes at the annoyance, pulled his pistol and pointed it in Tony's general direction. Tony just about managed to dive and roll away from the door before Sanchez squeezed off a few rounds. The first bullet pierced the glass window, the second shattered it and the third followed, all of them getting drilled into the wall opposite the door, forming a small triangle in the cement.

"Cállate o te mato!" Sanchez shouted. "I'll kill you and her, comprendes?" He fired the last shot lower, into the door. It pierced it and flew over Tony's back, to the floor.

Tony had waited flattened on the floor until the shots stopped. When he crawled back up, his face was wet with tears. He forced himself up and peered through the hole the bullet had drilled in the door. _Please, God... Please..._

Sanchez had placed his weapon on the ground and dropped his pants to the floor with an evil smirk on his face.

Tony stood, showing his head in the window again. "Please, don't do this..." he whispered just loudly enough to be heard.

Suddenly, Michelle kicked Sanchez in the knees with both her legs, as hard as she could. She heard a loud crack. Sanchez screamed and stepped back. Michelle kept kicking into the air until Diego threw himself over her. Even then she tried again, until he sat down on her shins, rendering her unable to move.

Tony's face fell, his tears froze, and his heartbeat stopped for a moment. The initial shock passed through relief to terror. Now what would happen?

"Michelle!" he shouted, if only to let her know he was there.

"Get off me, you bastards!" Michelle yelled.

"Bitch!" Diego slapped her. "Rule one: NEVER attack your owner!"

He grabbed her injured ankle and squeezed the wound tightly until Michelle screamed in pain. Then he squeezed even harder. "How's that, bitch?"

Tears began to run down her cheeks. After a while, her bandages turned red. Then her body went limp.

"That should teach her," Diego said and finally let go of her.

Sanchez had sat down, leaning on a wall. He was sweating from the pain, though he didn't moan.

"Throw her back in with the _rata_!" he yelled. "I'll be back for her later. Make sure that bitch never attacks me again or I'll kill her!" He watched Pablo and Diego lift Michelle up from the floor, adding, "And someone get me some crutches!"

--

As soon as Jack had reached Santa Rosa, he looked for a faster vehicle. He opted for a silver BMW R1150RS, a two wheel beast that would allow him to skip traffic more efficiently and exchanged the boxy white van for it. He'd passed through Sebastopol without major problems, and was racing down Bodega Hwy when he noticed a black Chevy Tahoe some 300 yards ahead on the road. He eased up on the gas. It couldn't be - could it? Surely, the blond woman he'd met earlier didn't drive the only black Chevy Tahoe in Sonoma County... While he slowly gained on it, he realized its license plate number was the same.

A coincidence? Hardly.

He tried to see the driver's face in the inside mirror as he caught up with the vehicle. She reached for something in the glove compartment and her blond hair gave Jack the proof he needed. _What's she doing here? _He had to stop her.

He glanced ahead. In the opposite lane, a truck came into view. It was blood red, had a yellow Devil head painted on the front, and was so wide that it took up the entire lane, leaving no room to either side. Jack's bike was just six yards behind the SUV. His heart began to beat harder as he waited, waited, waited, then took a deep breath and accelerated, suddenly veering sharply to the left. Coming out from behind the SUV, he crossed the solid white line to the left lane. The truck honked. The blonde glanced at Jack and at the truck. He heard her yell something. Jack continued driving straight towards the truck. A second later, the woman stepped on the brakes and the Tahoe fell back. The truck's horn was so loud and so near that Jack's bones vibrated with its sound. _That's it, time to go!_ The truck was five yards away when Jack's BMW snaked back into the right lane and took a 180° turn.

Jack's heart was still racing, but he was ok. The truck continued down its route. Jack stopped the bike and looked at the SUV. The Tahoe had gone off the road and stopped at the shoulder. The blonde was sitting with her mouth open, breathing heavily. Jack gunned the bike's engine and rode it up to the SUV. He leaned the two-wheeler on the hood. The blonde glared at him, still in shock. He could see she wouldn't dare try to escape.

The back window was open just enough for him to push his hand through. He forced the glass down, and unlocked that door, letting himself in, then moved to the right seat, pulling the door closed. He reached over to the front, pulled the car key from the ignition and jumped across the center console and onto the passenger seat. Drawing a pistol, he said,

"Andrea Lincoln? We need to talk."

--

Tony had allowed the Colonel's men to bring Michelle in without putting up a fight. He had kneeled next to her and gently lifted her head onto his thighs. She was still unconscious. He allowed himself to cry while she couldn't see him. He couldn't believe what had almost happened to her; once again, he wasn't able to protect her. She'd saved herself. He hated himself - for everything.

He glanced at her bandage. The red stain had grown again. He knew he'd better not unwrap it, but he wanted to stop the bleeding. He took off his jacket, then the shirt, and tore out a piece of the sleeve, to fabricate a bandage, which he then tied around her ankle. While he was knotting it, Michelle opened her eyes.

"Mhhhm..." She moaned a little.

Tony dried his tears before daring to face her. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart," he whispered, repositioning himself by her chest. "It was bleeding again..."

"Thanks," she said, attempting to smile.

He took her hand that was closest to him. "Sweetheart, are you alright? I'm so sorry I couldn't-"

"Honey," she interrupted him. He knew what she was about to say before she said it. "Honey, there is only one way out. _You _have to go."

He intertwined his fingers with hers. He knew she was right. Denying it any further wouldn't help. Still, he whispered, "'Chelle... I can't leave you alone with them..."

"You have to."

"I can't -" his voice broke and his eyes watered again. He looked away, ashamed. If his father had been here, he'd have slapped him. He was supposed to be the strong one, and yet Michelle had put up a fight with Sanchez while he was falling apart.

"Tony, look at me," she demanded, and he complied. "If you don't try, they'll enslave us. We'll lose each other forever..." She paused and found his other hand. "Sweetheart... You're our only chance."

Tony replayed the images of the last hour in his head. Nothing he recalled made him want to leave Michelle behind for a single minute, let alone for however long it would take him to get help. All those stories, all those names in case files and articles on human trafficking, all the feelings that friends and relatives of the victims had mentioned - he had them all now. Guilt, fear, pain... panic. He knew in his heart and his mind that the last thing he could afford was panic. But he couldn't help it. When it came to Michelle...

Before he got a chance to reply, there was a noise at the door. They both looked up.

It was Marco.

"Shh..."

--

Jack had lowered the firearm just below the dashboard, so that it wouldn't be visible from the road. Danielle had been following his movements vigilantly, but hadn't spoken.

Jack transfixed his stare on her. "When I used to work for the Government, I learned one thing about coincidences. In our line of work, they just don't happen. If something smells fishy, it's probably because there's half a ton of rotting fishermen stinking their days away somewhere really close by. In other words, my instinct never fails me."

Jack glanced down the road. Traffic was flowing, no-one seemed to care about the Tahoe. It wasn't an obstacle. Jack smiled an awkward grin, raising just one eyebrow at her.

"So, my instinct is now telling me that your name isn't Andrea Lincoln. You wanna tell me or should I look?"

"Suit yourself."

He'd thrown her handbag to the floor, along with everything else that had been on the passenger seat and now he reached for it and dug out her wallet.

"Danielle Agatha _Kreuk_," he read off the driver's license. "How come I keep running into that name today," he added, without making the thought into a question.

She had a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"You want to know what I mean? I'll tell you what I mean." He tossed her handbag to the back and his eyes darkened. "I've had a lot of trouble today with a guy named Bas Hendrik Kreuk." He'd said the words slowly and watched her reaction. She failed to hide it. "You recognize that name, don't you, Danielle?"

"Uh..." He could almost see her thoughts. Should she admit, should she not? How much? Finally, she relented. "He's.. my husband. _Who_ are you?"

Suddenly, Jack grabbed her by the throat and pushed her into the seat. "Your husband has kidnapped my friends. Where are they?"

Danielle attempted to pull Jack's hand off her, but failed. "What? What friends?..." she croaked.

"WHERE are Tony and Michelle?"

"I don't know. I don't know! Please..." She dug her fingernails into the back of his hand. "Please... I don't know any Tony and Michelle!"

Jack watched her for another second, then let go. Danielle coughed, rubbing her throat. Jack allowed ten seconds to pass before putting forward, "You have no idea who your husband really is, do you."

Danielle looked at him, but her expression had changed. She was interested, not appalled. There was no anger, which Jack found a bit odd.

"That's quite possible," she finally said and coughed. "Why don't you tell me everything you know about Bas, and I'll try to help you find your friends." Jack was still considering her suggestion, when she added, "How about you start with who _you _really are."

At this, Jack smiled. She was smart. He checked the SUV's surroundings before answering.

"My _real _name... is Jack Bauer. I can't tell you how I got here, it's safer that way." Danielle didn't even frown at the phrase. He deduced she must have been used to secrecy. "I first met your husband only yesterday. Since then, he has been involved in a series of criminal activities, including technology theft, fraud, arson, robbery, drug trafficking, and multiple counts of kidnapping and murder. He is now holding my friends hostage, and he's planning to sell them into slavery tonight."

Danielle had been with him up until that last word. "Slavery? Mr. Bauer -"

"Trust me, it does exist. Your husband is working with people from Central or South America to bring women here, whom he probably sells as prostitutes. Tony and Michelle are former Government agents, just like me. It would be a little too risky for your husband to just kill them on U.S. soil, so I believe he will try to move them South tonight. Which means I only have until nightfall to find them. I need to know where your husband is. And I need to know _now _!"

Danielle couldn't quite form a response in her mind yet. Jack wanted to push her, but decided to give her a little while to digest things first. She'd obviously had no clue how Bas Kreuk earned their living.

"I... I'm sorry..." she finally uttered. She looked conflicted, like she wanted to believe him but saw it as her duty as a wife to doubt his words. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bauer," she started, "Am I just supposed to just take your word for it? I mean, I don't even know for sure that you were ever a government agent..."

Jack could have yelled but decided to play Good Cop instead. He changed his tone to a soothing one. "Listen, Danielle. All I can give you _is_ my word. The proof is with the authorities. If your husband doesn't get himself killed tonight, he will be in custody by tomorrow, I promise you that. Now, you can save yourself _and _your children by cooperating with me now. Where is Bas?"

The decision apparently wasn't too hard. Danielle only took a couple of seconds, then nodded. "The glove compartment. Check it."

"What am I looking for?" Jack said, not motioning to open it yet.

"A GPS transmitter. I have been following the signal. That is why I'm here now."

"You have a transmitter on your husband?"

"Not quite." She glanced outside for a moment. "I have a P.I. undercover with Bas. He has the transmitter." When Jack looked at her with surprise, she smiled. "I have my instincts, too, Jack. I knew there was something wrong or illegal with whatever Bas was involved in. He was hardly at home - we have two daughters, he hardly ever sees them. He kept telling me that he was working, but I didn't believe him. I thought he was having affairs. I wanted to get a divorce, so I put a private investigator on him to find me proof... His name is Marco. He goes everywhere with Bas. He activated the transmitter after you and I first met so I could find them again."

Jack couldn't believe it. "You mean you have the _exact co-ordinates_ of Bas Kreuk's location right now?"

"Yes."

Jack now opened the glove compartment. "We have to hurry. We need to find them before they pass off Tony and Michelle. Drive."

--

Michelle had pulled herself up to sit, with Tony's help. They stayed together, but Tony's body was tense, ready to react if anything went down. Marco had remained by the door and watched the outside of the room for a few moments.

"What do you want?" Tony asked, irritated by Marco's silence.

Marco turned to them. "I want you to listen. We don't have a lot of time."

Tony wanted to retort something about not wasting time then, but bit his tongue. He was glad, because what Marco said next almost threw him off balance.

"My name is Marco Whistle, I am a private investigator."

_What? _Tony raised his eyebrows. Both shock and relief started to spread inside his chest like a growing balloon.

Marco stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I am undercover with these people, I can't tell you why, and I know you'll understand. But your time is running out and I want to help you. Once they start moving you towards the harbor, an escape will be impossible. Sanchez will have an army watching you. But if you go now, who knows, you just might make it. Don't misunderstand me, you two, I'm not saying it'll be easy, just that it's possible."

"How?" Tony nodded, instantly ready for action.

Marco reached into his jacket and pulled a SIGSauerP229 semiautomatic pistol from it, along with four clips, ten rounds each. "Here, take this, you'll need it," he said, handing the items to Tony. "One in, four extra. That's all I've got."

Then he kneeled down and began to draw lines in the dirt. "First, keep in mind that we're below ground here, under the main building. Now, once you leave these rooms, head down the corridor and take a left. Follow the corridor until you see a red wall. Turn right. At the end of that corridor, take another right and you'll see three doors: blue, green and yellow. The colors are faded but still discernible. You're not color blind, are you?"

"No."

"Take the green door, that's the exit. This will open it," he added, handing Tony a keycard. "Now, Sanchez has about fifteen men here. You'll have to shoot your way out but try to save your bullets. Go for the head."

"Vests?"

"Yeah. Most of them."

"Alright."

"Now, getting outside is the easy part. Once you're out there, you're in an open field, 130 yards either way plus an electrical fence. There's high-tech surveillance, and Sanchez has dogs. When he releases them... I hope you're a fast runner."

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, great... What else?"

"We're about three miles from the ocean. Head North, into the woods. There's a road and a few houses not too far. That might work. Clear so far?"

"Yeah," Tony nodded. "Just one thing. How do I get through the electrical fence?"

"I'll take care of that," Marco said, and checked his watch. "Exactly fifteen minutes after I leave here, I'll cut the electricity at the fence for three minutes. That's the maximum window I can give you, after four minutes the generator will kick in and they'll notice. You'll have to get there during that exact interval."

Tony nodded, a little doubtful.

"Alright, thanks," When was the last time he'd slept? Or eaten? Not only would he have to outrun people, but dogs as well. But you don't get out-of-jail cards all too often, and he had to cash this one in.

Marco turned to Michelle. "Can you run?"

She shook her head. "I'd just be slowing him down."

"Then you'll have to go alone, Tony."

Tony lowered his eyes and bit his lip. "Yeah... I know..."

Marco gripped Tony's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll make sure she's still alive when you come back for her."

"Thank you."

Marco let go of Tony again. "I'm sorry I can't do more for you. I need to stay covert."

Michelle smiled a little, "You're taking a risk as it is. Thank you."

"Don't thank me now," Marco sighed. "I just hope it works out."

_Yeah, so do I_, Tony thought, but neither of them spoke. Tony went through all the instructions again in his head, the corridors, the doors, the fence, the woods. Eventually, he nodded to himself. _Alright. Time to fight_.

"Um..." he raised his eyes at Marco. "I'm gonna need a watch. I lost mine somewhere along the way."

"Okay." Without hesitation, Marco took his watch off. Holding on to it for another minute, he fished his cell phone from his jacket, compared the two clocks to make sure they're synchronized, then handed the watch to Tony.

"Here."

"Thanks."

"Good luck."

"Yeah. You too."

Marco just nodded, then stood, sighing heavily, and went to the door. Before he opened it, Tony called him back.

"Is Kreuk still here?"

"He is."

Tony worked his jaw for a second. His eyes turned dark. "Do me another favor... Send him down here before I go, will ya."

Marco smiled knowingly. "Sure. I'll tell him you wanted to talk."

--

Danielle was smoking a Camel while driving the SUV, letting the smoke escape through the her open window. Jack held the GPS receiver in one hand, and the printouts from Ab's office in the other. The co-ordinates were almost identical.

"I guess all roads lead to Bodega Bay," he mumbled to himself. Raising his head towards Danielle, he added, "I should have just stayed with you earlier today."

Danielle threw out the cigarette butt through the window and looked at him calmly. "Well, maybe you should have told me the truth from the start."

Jack had no reply to that. He turned away, and let his gaze wander in the distance.

"You know, Jack," Danielle said, "I loved Bas. I still do, I mean, he's the father of my children after all."

Jack looked at her again, about to say that he knew exactly how she was feeling. She continued before he could.

"But if everything you're saying about him is true, I'll be more than willing to help you bring down the bastard."

Jack stared at her quizzically. "Don't fool yourself, Danielle. He's much more dangerous than you might think."

"Oh, I won't try to play the hero," she laughed. When Jack didn't react, she added, "Look, all I'm going to do is go there and go inside. I'll let you out somewhere close by and then I'm going in, alone." She reached for her pack of Camels. "Marco is still there. I'll tell him that you're waiting outside, and I'll see after your friends. I'm a doctor, if they're injured, I might be able to help. If Bas really has them, Marco will let you know somehow. Ok?"

Jack had watched her while she was speaking. She didn't blink too often, her voice was steady. She seemed reasonable. She also was his only way of assuring that Tony and Michelle were indeed at that location. Finally, he nodded.

"Ok, good." He paused just for a second. "But I'm going inside with you. I can't break them out from somewhere close by."

"Jack..."

"No discussion."

She shrugged. "Fine. Your life, your call." She lit the next cigarette and inhaled the smoke deeply. As the gray cloud dissolved, she glanced at Jack yet again. "You'll have to promise me something, though." She reached for the photograph on her dashboard, then handed it to him. "If anything goes wrong, I need to know that Jeannine and Maggie will be safe."

Jack took the photograph and for the first time actually had a good look at the two girls. He smiled at the little faces, and inwardly groaned at the double-life Kreuk was leading. There was only one way to free Tony and Michelle, and that meant taking the father away from the girls. As much as he hated the thought, he knew it was inevitable. Danielle seemed to know it, too.

He set the photograph down on his lap and said, "I'll take care of it. I promise... But quite frankly, I'd prefer to keep you alive."

"So would I, Jack. So would I..." she said and took a long drag from the cigarette. Jack watched her carefully. She hadn't slowed down the car, she was still focused, she wasn't sweating. Despite that, Jack couldn't help but to remind her,

"You don't have to do this, you know. Now I have their location, I can go in alone."

"I'm fine, Jack," she insisted. "I'm just doing what needs to be done."

--

As soon as Marco was gone, Tony kissed and embraced Michelle, keeping her in his arms for at least half a minute, literally breathing her in, feeling her with every inch of his body that was touching hers. He couldn't decide what to say to her. Not a goodbye. It wasn't a goodbye.

"Tony," she whispered, interrupting him before he said anything. "Honey, you have to-"

He placed a kiss onto her lips, as softly as a gentle butterfly might land on the sweet flower whose nectar had lured it there. Aching at the thought of parting, but all too aware of its inevitability, he pulled back and looked into her eyes.

"I will come back for you, Sweetheart," he promised, voice low.

"I know," she nodded and gave him a slight push, as if to say, _Go. Get ready._

He nodded, understanding her mute intentions.

"I love y-"

"I love-"

They both smiled. It wasn't even necessary to say it. Without the other, each of them on their own were incomplete.

Tony ran a hand through her hair one last time and forced himself to stand up.

"Come on."

He scooped her up and carried her to the safest corner of the room, the one behind the door, where she'd be out of the line of fire. Then, Tony began to walk across the room, scanning the floor for something useful among the occasional pieces of junk that lay there. As much as he would have loved to just throw that dead rat into Kreuk's face, that wouldn't do. Under the dirt, he saw something shiny and bowed down to check it out. It looked like a piece of plastic, a broken compact disc. Tony smiled. He'd found a weapon.

He checked the watch Marco had given him. He had eleven minues left to get to the electric fence. _Come on, you arrogant bastard. Get over here already_, he thought just as he heard something from the other side of the door. He glanced at Michelle.

"It's time."

She tried to hide the worry in her eyes by trying to smile. "Be careful."

Tony peered through the bullet hole in the lower half of the door. There were two men outside, Kreuk and Pablo, whom Tony assumed had been sent by Sanchez for security. They approached the room to about three feet, then stopped. Pablo stood in front of Kreuk, who called,

"Mr. Almeida? It has come to my attention that you have requested to speak to me. I have been notified that you had information to offer?" He paused for a second. "You certainly comprehend that it will not be possible to reward you with freedom regardless."

He smiled smugly. "Nevertheless, should you be able to provide us with adequate intelligence, we might be in the position to ensure that you and Michelle spend the rest of your lives in the same country. Not _this _country, naturally."

It had been so damn hard for Tony to keep quiet, but he had. He needed Kreuk closer. But if they started to chat, Kreuk might never approach the door. Tony needed the surprise element more than anything.

"Well, Almeida? Do not play games."

Both men had taken one step closer to the door. Then Pablo noticed something. "Sir, the door. It's ajar."

Before he'd even finished the sentence, he'd touched the door, pushing his fingers inside. Tony grabbed Pablo's wrist and pulled the guy in with the door. The rest happened so fast that the Mexican didn't even have the time to react. At this point, Tony wasn't thinking. He acted almost mechanically, on instinct, which was his training. He caught the body while it was still falling, hugged it from behind and slashed Pablo's throat from the carotid to the larynx with the cutting edge of the broken CD. Blood squirted in a high bow from the neck, instantly flooding the wall opposite. While throwing him down, Tony pulled the man's gun from inside his waistband. Michelle reached over to Tony and took the weapon. Tony jumped over Pablo to reach Kreuk before he could squeeze off a shot and alert the others.

Kreuk had managed to pull his firearm free of its holster by the time Tony leaped at him but hadn't yet taken aim. Tony grabbed Kreuk's forearm so that his thumb faced downward and pushed the arm towards Kreuk's middle, putting lots of weight into the block, keeping his own body away from the muzzle of the weapon, and at the same time leading his free hand into Kreuk's face. Kreuk, a head taller and twenty pounds heavier than Tony, wasn't going to give in.

Drawing from his own karate experience, he blocked Tony's surprise blow with his free arm and tried to land a blow in Tony's face instead. Tony moved his head out of the way, and while blocking the blow, pushed the firearm even deeper against Kreuk, then pulled it down, stooping just enough to cause Kreuk to follow his motion, and when Kreuk did, Tony stroke a hammer blow against Kreuk's nose. The diversion punch worked this time around. Fluently, Tony's free arm came down, he dug his fingers into Kreuk's gun-holding hand, liberating the weapon and disarming the Dutchman. Then he slid the weapon across the floor and out of the danger zone.

While he still had a hold on Kreuk, Tony's other arm swiftly went up again and caught Kreuk's chin with the elbow. Kreuk's next blow led his wrist over the sharp plastic in Tony's hand. Kreuk's wrist got cut and the plastic fell to the floor while blood gashed from Kreuk's arm. Tony stepped back, letting go, and brought his front leg up, looking to kick Kreuk's genitals.

Bas Kreuk never even flinched at the cut or the kick. Completely ignoring the blood he was losing, he continued to fight. Tony's leg was hardly back on the floor again, when Bas spun and raised his right leg high, aiming for a head kick. Tony caught and redirected Kreuk's leg, himself stepping outward and aside. Kreuk spun to face Tony again. Tony went in, leading with a stiff hand, slamming his fingertips into Kreuk's larynx like a human sword - in and out again very quickly.

Every man needs to breathe - even a mountain like Bas Kreuk. Tony's attack closed off the crook's windpipe and he let his guard down for just a moment. This moment was all that Tony needed to slam a full fist into Kreuk's throat, and now he heard the cartilage crack. Kreuk stooped in shock. Tony stepped behind him and grabbed his head from behind. Then he broke his neck.

"Game over," he mumbled while he let the body drop to the ground.

"Tony!"

He looked over at Michelle who'd appeared in the door frame. She was holding Pablo's bloody, but intact, Kevlar vest, and as soon as Tony looked at her, she tossed it to him.

"Thanks."

While Tony was putting on the vest, Michelle collected Kreuk's weapon and brought it to Tony. She almost shoved it into his hand, and slightly pushed him away.

"Go, go!"

Tony wanted to say so much to her still but didn't actually manage to utter a single word. He just nodded, checked the watch - six minutes left - and seconds later, he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

Michelle stood where she was, as if to make sure that he wouldn't pull off some hopelessly and deathly romantic scene in which he returned for her and they both died, and only dared breathe after five seconds had passed without him walking through the door again. Then she backed up into the stinky room. There was no point even trying to pull Kreuk's body inside. He was too big and too heavy for her to move on her own, and the blood that had already colored the floor red was a clear sign that everything had happened.

She pulled shut the steel door. It locked. The clicking sound offered her a bizarre sense of safety though she was all too aware of the fact that she was less secure now than she'd ever been today. She remained by the door for a moment, staring at the dead corpse. The room now harbored not one but two dead rats. As appalling and horrible the gory sight should have been, she was unable to feel much, certainly not pity. She wasn't really sure what she was feeling. All she was able to think about was Tony, the cameras, the shooters, the dogs and the electrical fence... But she promised herself that she wouldn't break. Whatever happened.

She flinched at the first shots fired in the hallway outside. _Tony_...

There was just a second of silence, but it was enough to make her think, _they got him_. Only when more shots followed did that awkward relief return: as long as two sides were fighting, Tony was still alive.

But she still had a task left. She couldn't allow them to catch her anywhere near a firearm. They'd put a bullet in her head without thinking. She gave herself a push and buried Pablo's weapon in the dirt behind the door so that no-one would accidentally trip over it when coming to get her. Then she sat down the furthest away from the still flowing stream of blood, waiting for the inevitable.

--

The Chevy Tahoe had just driven through the first of two gates and was rolling towards two guards with assault rifles who waved it to a stop. Danielle halted and watched the back gate close behind her. There was a fence on both sides. One man was approaching her window when yelping and howling of sirens shattered the silence. The man yelled for her to get out of the car, pointing the rifle at her.

She opened the door slowly and stepped out. He grabbed her and threw her forward.

"Down on the ground! Down on the ground and stay there!"

--

Danielle had obeyed, lying flat on her stomach and not moving. The two guards were standing between her and the vehicle. One rifle's muzzle was touching the back of her head, and that man was solely focused on her. The other one stood with his rifle pointed in the general direction of the compound, in case trouble came running towards them.

Jack was inside the trunk, in a space under the spare wheel, which Kreuk had modified for his own purposes. Danielle had suggested that option when she'd remembered her husband using her car once, and stuffing big bags into that cavity. He'd told her those were old clothes for the homeless - she didn't quite believe him, but now she was sure it must have been either drugs or dirty money.

Jack wasn't exactly comfortable, but the plan had worked. He was trying to hear whether the men were walking away when the sirens began to scream. Gunfire erupted from a closed space. Single shots and short bursts. He couldn't tell how many weapons were engaged - the echo was terrible. But gunfire inside the hideout could mean only one thing - an escape.

He had to get out of the SUV and see if he could help.

He had no idea how far away Danielle or the guards were, but he had to take the chance. Making sure his weapons were ready, he cautiously pushed open the lid and peered out. Seeing no-one, he crawled into the trunk and raised his head between the seats. He saw the backs of two men standing in the headlights of the vehicle. One had an AK-47 pointed at the ground; Jack assumed Danielle was lying right there between them.

_Good, stay like that_, he thought. As long as they were looking the other way, he could escape.

--

Tony had three men chasing him when he finally spotted the three doors. He squeezed off three rounds while digging the key card out of his pocket and touched it to the door. A shot hit the concrete just next to his head when he opened the door. He pushed himself through, saw the open field, and ran for his life.


	15. The Escape

**A/N: **Well, hey, the first month of the year is almost over and **24** is back in play! I hope you guys are enjoying season 7, personally, I think it's right back on track, back to the roots and has great potential. Let's just hope you-know-you lives to see the day through!

Also, I'd like to thank you for your reviews :-). I'm happy that you're enjoying the story, so keep them coming and here's the next chapter. It was about time, wasn't it? ;-).

* * *

Jack was still in the trunk, looking out. He couldn't see the building from which the shots had been coming. Bushes on the other side of the chain-link fence - an electrified fence, judging from the _High Voltage_ signs posted on it every few yards - prevented a clear view of the compound. The fence was topped with loops of concertina razor wire. The SUV that Jack was in was effectively boxed in between two gates and two side fences which lacked the warning signs.

He quickly considered his options. They seemed simple: either retreat through the back gate without alerting the guards, or take the guards out, find a way to shut off the electricity in the front gate and go inside. He didn't really like either of them. If he killed the guards, leaving Danielle behind would not be an option - and he had no time to babysit her during combat. Not killing them would mean retreat and that would take him further away from Tony and Michelle than he wanted to be - especially if they were in the middle of an escape. Neither option was perfect, but he decided not to put any suspicion on Danielle.

Reaching below the trunk, he felt for the weapon he'd found while hiding in the cavity: a brand new Heckler & Koch 417. He hadn't seen one since CTU but was happy to discover the 20'' barrel sniper model of the 7.62mm German-made precision battle rifle now. It was additionally fitted with the machine gun version, 50-round drum magazine, which made it heavier to carry around, but gave it an edge that Jack welcomed. Officially, the HK417 was government and military use only, and Kreuk could by no means have gotten his hands on it in legal ways, but Jack didn't care about the How. He felt for the two handguns he'd grabbed earlier, stuck them in the pockets of the jacket and then closed the cavity he'd come from. Slowly, eyes on the guards, he silently popped the trunk and lifted it just enough to slip out.

--

The falling darkness had engulfed almost everything. It had turned out that Kreuk's weapon only had five bullets left and Tony had used them up before even making it to the door of the compound. He'd tossed the weapon after emptying it. _150 yards to the fence_... Tony remembered, still running. He still couldn't see it, but it had to be there. Somewhere. He heard barking dogs behind the house at a constant distance. Apparently they hadn't been released yet; he'd caught Sanchez's crew off guard. Maybe the dogs would stay out of the picture for as long as shots were fired, unless Sanchez wanted them to get killed. Better that way. Tony didn't really want to try outrunning watchdogs... or having to shoot them. He knew he had two friends: darkness and unpredictability. So as soon as shots were fired behind him, he abruptly switched directions and turned right, dashing on. Sanchez's men kept firing, and Tony ran, as fast as he could, very much aware that the next bullet could have his name on it. He switched directions again.

Suddenly, a pair of mighty floodlights, mounted on the roof of the hideout, lit up. Chasing the dusk away, the beams shone into the sky, then descended to the ground and as soon as they made contact, began to cross and criss-cross each other, separating, melting into one and falling apart again, like a pair of figure skaters learning a new routine. They illuminated the fence for a moment, too, allowing Tony to see it. It was still more than a hundred yards away.

A light beam found him and stayed on him. "There he is!"

_Son of a bitch... _

Tony fired three rounds towards the men and tried to get lost in the darkness again. He spied a large wooden box close by and jumped out of the beam, dived and rolled forward on the ground, hiding behind the box.

The lights continued to search, close to where they'd lost him. Tony used them to inspect the field he was on. It was flat and grassy, with the odd bush along the way. And then he spotted something he liked: more effective bullet stoppers. Maybe half a dozen piles of sandbags were scattered around the area and the closest one wasn't too far. So as soon as the lights shifted away, Tony jumped up and ran, staying as low as he could while laying down cover fire.

Something suddenly hit him in the back, and for a moment he thought that was it. But as he dived for cover behind the pile, he realized there was no sharp pain. The round must have flown roughly parallel to his back and just scratched the vest.

_Son of a bitch, that was close_, he thought with an inner sigh.

Crouching, he popped the third spent clip out of the SIGP229 and slid a full one in, remembering he only had one more. Twenty rounds, and that's it. He pulled the slide back on the weapon and released it. Then he pushed a hand under one of the sandbags directly on the ground. When he pulled it out, it was wet. He distributed the squashy, supple material between his fingers and smelled it - its odor was earthy, as expected. He grabbed a handful of mud and smeared it over his face, leaving out the eyes and lips, then took some more to camouflage his neck and the back of his hands.

He checked the stopwatch - two minutes until the three minute window. Five total before he would be trapped inside without any hope of getting out. Suddenly, the gunfire ceased and the barking of the dogs grew louder. Tony figured Sanchez's thugs were regrouping. He had to make a move, otherwise he was a sitting duck. Calculating the positions of the sandbag piles within reach, the bushes and the fence, he began to devise a strategy.

He wasn't the only one, however. On the upper floor of the compound, Sanchez had made himself comfortable by a window, with his baby: his personal Soviet-made RPD 7.62mm light machine gun and a few 100-round belts. Because lighting his pipe would have given away his position, he nonchalantly chewed on some home-grown tobacco while setting up the bipod on the window sill and following the dancing lights to see if he could spot Tony. Strategically, Tony's best cover would be a pile of sandbags; they could hold back bullets of this caliber and Sanchez guessed Tony knew that, too. He was ready to shoot, but hadn't found Tony yet. So he switched to channel 2 and brought the radio to his lips.

"Okay, amigos, let's smoke him out."

Then he parked his finger on the trigger, releasing a volley of bullets into the night.

--

In the basement, Diego was standing behind Michelle, with a pistol two inches from her head, watching her and the door at the same time. Right after Tony's escape, he'd found her and dragged her out of the smaller room, then instantly informed Sanchez,

"I've got her, Almeida is gone."

Sanchez's voice reached Michelle's ears through the radio. "Blast her head off if she moves a muscle. Stay there until I come down."

"Si, Colonel."

Diego pushed Michelle down to the ground and made her sit on her calves. Forcing her swollen ankle to stretch and then putting weight on it was so painful she had to grit her teeth and tightly squeeze her eyes shut to keep from yelling or crying. But kept silent she did, much to Diego's annoyance. She wasn't about to show him weakness, she wasn't about to give up. She did nothing to provoke him, simply remaining as still and silent as she could.

She was kneeling just a few inches away from Kreuk's dead body. The floor was a little skewed, so the blood from the cut in Kreuk's wrist was crawling towards her like a poison river. She wanted to move away before the red stream reached her, before it touched her... Over the years back at CTU, she'd somewhat gotten used to the sight of blood, and that in itself didn't bother her - but this particular blood she wanted nothing to do with.

Gradually, her body weight slowed the blood flow to the foot and numbed the pain. With the ache fading into the background, her mind was open to allow fear to resurface. She began to wonder if she'd done the right thing by burying Pablo's weapon in the other room. Then again, had she been armed when Diego stormed in, she would be dead... This way, Diego assumed that Tony had taken the weapon and never searched the stinky room. Still... What good would it do to her now, that far away? What could she, alone, unarmed, do against Sanchez and his men?..

She had seen enough criminals in her lifetime to know that most of them could be bought. Some could be offered immunity, a deal, or money and they'd walk away and never look back.

Sanchez wasn't the kind.

He appeared to have no life purpose beyond pure malice. Whatever he did to people didn't seem to touch him in the least. He was evil, cruel, inhumane and worst of all - he enjoyed it. He seemed to act like a slave driver towards everyone; the poor woman, the little boy, and even towards the people that worked for him...

A wave of chills traveled across Michelle's skin. Each hair on her body seemed to stand erect. She shuddered. She noticed that her heart was beating harder and took a deep breath, trying to slow it down. But instead, she felt herself beginning to shake. Before her mind's eye, Sanchez stood, unzipping his trousers, again and again and again. She couldn't shake off the image, stifle the fear, neutralize the disgust...

She somehow willed her brain into replacing Sanchez's evil smirk with Tony's loving face and tried to hold on to it. But all she saw in Tony's face was pain. Anguish, from the core of his being. His agonized screams were still echoing in her head, tearing at her heart. Those screams, his agony, they'd pained her more than Sanchez ever could. It was for Tony that she'd fought so hard. She couldn't add to his guilt. She couldn't allow Sanchez to do this to Tony, to them... She decided then and there that she would not be violated - at least not as far as Tony would ever know. She couldn't stand the thought of him knowing. It made her sick.

Sanchez's sadistic face appeared before her eyes again, indelibly printed in her mind. She felt fear progressively taking control of her. She couldn't allow it to rule her mind. She closed her eyes and ordered herself to stop it. _You won't give up. You will survive - for Tony. He will never forgive himself if he returns too late... You have to survive. Just focus._

But Sanchez kept grinning at her with his pants around his ankles. Would she ever be able to forget him? What would he do to her when he came back? Would she be able to stop him again?

Did Tony make it out?

--

Sanchez had been randomly sowing bullets in the grass for thirty seconds and he didn't seem to plan on stopping. Tony had to move. Time was running out. He peered out from behind his cover, and someone instantly fired in his direction. Tony pulled his head back, then blindly fired back twice and darted away, squeezing off three more rounds while running. He managed to get one cover and ten yards closer to the fence without getting shot. He crouched and fired two bullets at some guy's face. He'd come too close, and now fell like rock, never to move again. One light beam was nearing his position and Tony leaned against the bags again. When it was gone, he began to run, firing the three bullets left in the magazine as he moved. He'd just about dived behind the next cover before the Kalashnikovs drilled rounds into the sandbags.

The white light was pursuing him relentlessly. It had just crossed over his cover again when it suddenly seemed to get fried and went out. While exchanging the empty clip for his last full one, Tony glanced at the roof just in time to see the other floodlight also go dark. Not wasting any time thinking about the Why, Tony dashed in the direction of the fence, under the welcome cover of the darkness. He could feel a barrage of bullets from the machine gun hammer against the ground behind him but he didn't stop until he reached the very last cover before the fence. Dropping to his knees, he visualized the closest two targets and fired two shots each towards the blaze of light coming from their weapons, seeing no immediate results.

And then Marco's watch started flashing. It was time. Tony immediately reset it to three minutes. He peered out, checking the positions of Sanchez's men, fired two shots and then ran, staying as low as he could, not firing his last four bullets in an effort not to give away his position. Finally he crouched behind a thick bush by the fence. He'd made it. At least this far.

He was surveying his surroundings when he heard a familiar raspy voice say,

"Tony."

Tony smiled inwardly, understanding what had happened to the floodlights. He searched for his friend, spotting him on the other side of the fence, behind a concrete box that could have been a transformer.

"Jack... Good to see you."

"You too," Jack replied, glancing to the left and right of Tony, as if looking for someone.

"I thought Kreuk had killed you," Tony admitted.

"I got away," Jack explained curtly, and added, "The fence is charged. Don't touch it."

Before Tony could reply, Jack raised the H&K. "They've made you. Run."

Tony ran. Jack took out two of Sanchez's men some 120 yards away with precise shots before they could put their Kalashnikovs to work. Tony was glad Jack was there; at this distance, he wouldn't have been able to do much with the pistol, he would have been dead meat. He crouched behind another bush, inspecting the fence. It was approximately as tall as he was, but the razor wire on top posed a problem. He could probably make it across, but not without injuries.

Jack joined Tony seconds later. He kept scanning the surroundings while Tony explained, "The fence is supposed to be deactivated. I got about two minutes before the power comes back up."

"You're gonna climb it?" Jack asked rhetorically, purely for confirmation.

Tony glanced at the loops of wire again, cussing inwardly, and began to take off his jacket.

"I gotta climb it, Jack. There's no other way," he sighed.

"Okay, I'll cover you," Jack nodded but then had to ask: "Where's Michelle?"

Tony shook his head. "Inside. She can't run. I couldn't risk her getting gunned down. We gotta come back for her." He looked at the watch. "I got eighty seconds left, Jack. I gotta do this, now."

"I've got your back. Go!"

Tony started to run along the fence while Jack stayed in place and began to shoot at Sanchez's window. The machine gun stopped firing for a moment, and Jack changed his position before the gunfire started up again. Tony found a break between two sections, where the chain-link fence was attached to vertical poles in the ground, one of which was about five inches shorter than the other. That would work. He took an empty clip he'd kept in his jeans and tossed it carefully against the fence. There was a clang but nothing else.. The stopwatch was down to 65 seconds.

Jack ­moved a little further away from Tony, again drawing fire to his own position. Sanchez's men responded, probably assuming they were still dealing with only one shooter. Tony threw the jacket up, managing to get it stuck over the concentric circles of the blades. He secured and stuck the pistol in the back of his jeans, gripped the fence, rested a foot on a horizontal pipe about half way up and pulled himself up, beginning to climb.

--

Marco was hiding behind the control unit for the electrified fence behind the building. After shutting down the power, he was watching both his cell phone's timer and his surroundings, wanting nothing less than to be surprised by one of Sanchez's men.

A couple of minutes ago, two men had fetched two Dobermans from a cage close to the building. Led by the dogs, they separated, each of them taking the perimeter on one side of the building. Marco knew he couldn't allow them to sniff him out, but also that he could do nothing about it if they did, except come up with a good explanation. Wind was his friend, though, it was moderately strong and carried the air away from the dogs and towards Marco rather than the other way round. As long as the winds didn't change he would probably be okay. But Tony, who was on the West side of the field, might not be as lucky. While watching the countdown, he hoped that Tony had already made it out. He had no way of seeing what was happening over there.

Twenty seconds. Nineteen. Eighteen.

--

Tony was on top of the fence. He'd carefully lifted one leg over the jacket, the only divider between him and the loops of razor wire. As he was pulling it over to the other side, one blade managed to get caught in his jeans. It cut the fabric and sliced the skin of his right shin.

_Son of a bitch_, he cursed inwardly. _The last thing I need right now_.

Balancing on the top of the fence was hard enough, not to mention reaching down to yank the jeans free while holding on to the vertical pole behind him. He could almost not see where his leg was, let alone where each of the blades was. He grabbed the jeans and pulled back and forth. Another razor cut his forearm. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the blood and pain from both injuries, feeling each second that passed throbbing hard in his veins. He finally managed to pull himself free and found a place to rest the foot on the other side. Then he began to lift the other leg across.

--

Marco's countdown ended. He wanted to give Tony more time, but he couldn't. lf the whole fence wasn't charged sixty seconds from now, the generator would kick in and alert everyone present that something was wrong. It would take at least fifty seconds for the power to come back up in all the sectors, starting with the one closest to him. He had no choice. He waited three seconds past the countdown, then flipped the switch, hoping he wasn't about to kill Tony.

--

The watch on Tony's wrist was flashing vigorously. The time was up.

He'd just about managed to get both legs to the other side of the fence, when he thought he was starting to hear the buzz of electricity approach. He instantly let go off the fence and jumped, landing in a crouch. The high voltage electrical current instantly possessed the metal in front of him again.

"God, that was close," he whispered to himself.

His jacket had remained caught in the wire, and there was no liberating it. He assessed himself quickly. His abdomen still hadn't completely recovered from the kicks and blows. The cut in his arm was bleeding slowly but persistently. He stood, testing his leg. He was able to stand but was already feeling blood running into his shoe. The cuts stung like hell but taking care of them would have to wait. He pulled the pistol from his waistband, pushed the safety switch, and ran towards Jack.

--

Marco quickly ran towards the building, then began to cautiously move along its wall, pistol drawn, as if searching for Tony.

--

Tony stopped behind a redwood tree, five yards away from Jack.

"Jack, let's go!" he called over the shots.

Jack saw him and jumped up. Firing rounds into the darkness behind the fence, Jack retreated backwards in Tony's direction.

While Jack was approaching, Tony smeared the mud over his now naked arms, to disguise them, too, saving the four rounds he had left, just trying to stay covered until Jack joined him. Then they began to run together.

"This way!" Tony said, leading them North, like Marco had instructed him.

"What's there?"

"The woods. The rest of this is open field and hills. We'd never make it."

They ran. They couldn't go too far away if they wanted to come back for and free Michelle but they couldn't sit and wait either. Tony felt like every step he was taking further away from the compound decreased Michelle's chances of survival but he also knew that if he and Jack were recaptured now, those chances would probably fall to zero. He ran faster.

--

Sanchez stopped shooting his RPD as soon as no-one at the fence was returning fire. Guessing what the silence meant, he grabbed the radio.

"Salvador!"

A second later, the reply came through the static. "Yes, Colonel."

"Did you get him?"

"No, Colonel."

"Hijo de puta!" Sanchez cursed to himself. "Search the fence. I hope his dead body is lying there somewhere!"

"Colonel," a second voice broke through the radio.

"WHAT?"

"It's Armando. I found a jacket on the wire. I think he escaped."

"How could he climb the fence?"

"I don't know, Sir. It seems charged, I'm not touching it."

César's eyes narrowed. His lower lip trembled violently. He stared out into the darkness for a few seconds, then yelled through the radio again.

"Salvador!"

"Si, Colonel?"

"Take Armando. Take a jeep. Find him!"

"Understood."

"Go North. Comb the woods, follow the road. Find him!"

"Yes, Sir."

Sanchez broke off the transmission. "Concho!!!" he cussed and almost slammed the radio against the floor but caught himself before throwing it. He breathed in and out once slowly, then switched the radio to channel 1. " Diego."

"Yes, Colonel."

"I'm coming down now."

--

Only 90 yards from where Tony had crossed the fence, he and Jack realized that they couldn't continue straight on to get to the woods in the North. The direct route would have taken them through Sanchez's guards at the gate. So in order to stay out of the open, they followed the trees, and took a slightly Southbound detour. The cover the vegetation was giving them was maybe two to three tree trunks thick, not enough to cover them if they attracted attention. So they slowed down, moving ahead quietly, footsteps soft, each one planted on the ground with care, knowing that a single cracking branch could give them away.

The guards were still standing in the lights of Jack's Trojan Horse and it looked like Danielle was still lying on the ground between them.

"Slowly," Jack whispered to Tony. "Don't let them hear us."

Tony followed in Jack's footsteps, Marco's weapon in hand and a new handgun with a full magazine which Jack had taken off someone earlier in his waistband. He kept scanning the area on the other side of the trees, listening for any sounds that weren't coming from him or Jack.

They went like this for some hundred yards before they found themselves between trees that could hide them both at the same time. Tony caught up with Jack and continued to walk maybe half a step behind him. Their arms and shoulders almost touching, they were finally close enough to exchange a few words. Jack glanced at Tony but before he could say anything, Tony asked,

"You alright?"

"Yeah. You okay?"

"Yeah," Tony nodded, "I got some cuts and scrapes from the fence, that's all."

Jack slowed down and turned to Tony, asking, "How badly are you bleeding?"

"A little," Tony shrugged. "It'll stop on its own. Come on."

Not wanting any delays, Tony walked faster. He knew he'd have to stop the bleeding at some point, but he wouldn't allow it to slow him down now. He couldn't completely ignore the signs his body was giving him, but that's where the Marine in him came in. F' it, drive on. That attitude had pulled him through worse situations than this.

Jack stayed behind, watching Tony walk away. He saw no indication that Tony was badly injured. So he accepted Tony's words and began to catch up with him.

--

The trees had grown in a circle around the premises and Jack and Tony found themselves exactly opposite the gates now. Here, the trees were a little older and their trunks thicker. While moving ahead, Jack was trying to estimate how far he and Tony would still have to go before they made it to the woods, where they'd actually have some hope of hiding. It wasn't easy in the almost pitch black, cloudy night. There wasn't much artificial illumination and the moonlight was unreliable. Only occasionally did a break in the cloudy cover allow the moon to show itself and bathe the earth in its milky light. Jack couldn't come up with a number, but it looked like they still had half a mile to go.

Suddenly, there was action at the gates. The guards seemed to be talking to someone on the radio, and one of them turned to scan the surroundings. Jack halted, grabbed Tony's arm and flattened himself against a tree, the H&K leaned against his chest. Tony leaned against the same tree and waited. Their shoulders touching on one side, they watched one guard haul Danielle from the ground and drag her to a side fence.

"Jack..." Tony whispered, finally finding a moment to say what he'd meant to say since he first saw Jack. "Thanks. I woulda been dead if ya hadn't come when ya did."

Jack smiled, but whispered back, "I should have found you hours ago."

"Well, uh... Better late than never, right?"

"Yeah.".

While they were watching the other guard move the Tahoe to the side of the fenced box, Jack began to explain:

"I lost track of you and Michelle when Kreuk sent Wilson out into the field. I thought that I could prevent what they were trying to do. I followed them down to Santa Rosa... I couldn't stop them. When they got back to Kreuk's hideout, it blew to pieces."

Tony turned his head towards Jack as much as he could. "You mean Wilson's dead?"

Jack only now realized that Tony didn't know yet. And somehow he liked being able to tell him that the guy who'd dragged them into this was gone.

"Yeah, he's dead," he replied and paused.

Tony nodded in acknowledgement of Jack's words. At least that bastard Wilson would never cross his path again. He wanted to feel relief at the news, but he couldn't. Too much adrenaline was still pumping through his body. He didn't know what to reply, still processing.

Jack continued his explanation. "Kreuk had him executed after he'd carried out his assignment. He didn't die in the blast." He let out a breath and added, "Frankly, I thought that you and Michelle did."

Tony leaned his head against the trunk again. "I don't think Kreuk was ever plannin' on killin' us. Or lettin' us go, for that matter. He had us choppered out here pretty soon after sending Wilson out. He was gonna sell us. All Kreuk cared about was profit."

"Cared?" Jack questioned, glancing towards Danielle Kreuk and the guards.

"I killed him."

Jack closed his eyes for a second, realizing that, with her husband out of the picture, Danielle's chances of survival had just dropped dramatically. Tony wanted to add something about Michelle, but a powerful roar of an engine came from behind the fence, and began to come closer.

Jack scoffed, realizing this meant pursuit. "Dammit. We gotta make it to thicker vegetation before they get out of the gates. Run."

--

Sanchez had just stepped out of the elevator on the basement level, walking with crutches to avoid putting any strain on his busted knee when the radio chirped. He leaned against a wall and fished it out of a pocket of his white suit jacket.

"Yes."

"Señor, it's Rafael. There is a woman here who says she wants to come in."

"What woman?"

"She says she is the wife of Mr. Kreuk, Señor."

"Kreuk's wife? That should be interesting," Sanchez mumbled to himself, then responded to Rafael. "Bring her in."

He stuck the radio back inside and hopped towards an open door. When he stepped in, he gave Kreuk's dead body a short glance, then fixed his eyes on Michelle.

Never before had Michelle ever seen a living person's eyes look so dead and cold. She refused to look away, though her chest seemed to contract more with each second that she forced herself to hold his stare. She tried to divert her thoughts and to read him so that he couldn't read her, she attempted to see in his gaze what had happened outside, to find the answer to the one question she needed answered but feared the answer to. But Sanchez proved impenetrable.

He stood without blinking, without moving a muscle, staring at her for a full minute. Then he simply said,

"He's dead."

_What?.._

He allowed several seconds to pass, so that his words would sink in. Then he added through a smirk, "I _personally_ put five bullets in his head. So if you think he's coming back to save you - think again."

_No... _

Michelle felt tears rushing to her eyes and shut them tightly to prevent the tears from flowing. _No... No, no_, she thought, allowing her body to slump down, not in the least caring if her not staying still would earn her a bullet to the head. If Tony was dead, it was over. She had no will left to fight, saw no reason to survive just so she could live in slavery. _I'm sorry, Honey_, she thought,_ I'm so sorry..._ She recalled Tony's reluctance to leave her behind, his shaking hands as he touched her and embraced her for the last time, his unwillingness to let go of her, the softness of his trembling lips as he kissed her again and again before she had to give him a push and make him focus on the escape..._ I love you, Tony,_ she said to his face before her eyes. _I should have been there with you. We should have gone together._

She still felt Diego's gun on her, though it wasn't touching her head. But it was there, and she knew he was watching her every move. Tears were sliding down her cheeks when she slightly opened her eyes. The stream of Kreuk's blood had frozen in place a few inches away from her knees. She hated the idea of mixing her own blood with his, but she didn't have another choice. Keeping her eyes low, she visualized Tony's prettiest smile, and told him, _I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I can't live in slavery. I'll be with you soon_.

Then she slowly raised her eyes. Sanchez was quietly observing her with a big smile on his face when she finally looked back at him. And it was his obvious pleasure at seeing her torment that made her realize that what he'd told her might not necessarily be the truth. Tony could still be alive. Sanchez could just be playing a psychological game.

She stared at him, unmoving, and finally decided that he was lying. _It's a trick_, she told herself. _It's a trick. Tony isn't dead._ She forced herself to swallow down the lump that had formed in her throat. While taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine, sitting up again, and tried to make defiance return to her eyes.

Sanchez's smile faded. He hopped closer to her and shoved Diego away. Then he grabbed Michelle by the hair, tilting her head back, pulling so hard that he could have broken her neck if he'd gone much further. He stooped over her, his face just inches away from hers. His lower lip began to tremble again and his eyes finally showed some emotion: rage. He clenched his fist even more, almost starting to pull her hair out. His breath had a herb, sour stench as he whispered menacingly to her:

"_You _will tell me who helped him break out. You will _tell _me who turned off the power at the fence. You _will _do whatever I want from you, I promise you that. It's just a matter of time."

Then he suddenly let go of her and backhanded her, throwing her down to the floor. His voice was dark and cold as he added,

"And you will _pay_ for smashing my knee."

--

Both gates were wide open while the guards waited for the jeep carrying Salvador and Armando to drive by. Then, as the gates shut again, Rafael, holding Danielle by the elbow, pushed her forward.

"Time to go, pretty. Move."

*Let go of me," Danielle stared at him. "_Then _I'll move."

"Listen to me-"

"Rafael!" the other guard interjected and Rafael shot a look at him. "Just let her walk. She ain't going nowhere, man. Besides, if she's really the wife of the Colonel's friend, you gonna be in trouble."

"Fine, José."

Rafael let go of Danielle's arm, and smiled. "After you, _Señorita_."

Danielle ignored both guards and began to walk. Rafael followed her with his rifle pointed roughly in her direction, but she wasn't too worried now. Once they were past the gates and the bushes, Danielle tried to see where she'd actually ended up. There was a building in the middle of a field, plus boxes, sandbags and dead bodies. But she couldn't see beyond the building or beyond the fence. It was simply too dark. Aside from the flood lights at the gates and soft light inside the barred windows, there was no illumination. The moon was hidden by the clouds.

They'd come about half way to that building when Danielle took a deep breath and asked, "Rafael, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Rafael frowned. "I do, actually."

Danielle shot him a look over her shoulder. "Well, I'll ask it anyway. These dead bodies here - what was that firefight about? Do you know?"

"I don't think that's any of yer business," Rafael said flatly, and added, "_Ma'am_."

Danielle noted the cynicism in his voice and countered by adding authority to her own. "Listen, Rafael. My husband is an associate of Colonel's. I _run_ his business. I do have a right to know. You've already kept me at gunpoint and in the dirt for too long. My clothes are ruined. So, either you tell me what I want to hear or I tell your boss that you've been highly uncooperative."

Rafael was silent for a few moments. Then he lowered the weapon. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kreuk. I didn't mean to be."

"That's okay, just tell me now."

Rafael cleared his throat. "All I know is that someone that your husband brought in here earlier tried to escape. Well, actually, someone did escape. I don't know anything else."

"Are they alive?"

"He won't be when the crew finds him. But for now, yeah, I guess he's alive."

"Thank you, Rafael," Danielle smiled to herself, "Where is my husband?"

"Inside, I think. You'll have to ask Señor Sanchez."

They stopped in front of the door and he touched his key card to the reader. "After you."


	16. On The Run

**A/N: **A word of thanks to those who've just lately discovered this story and read the entire piece in one go - thanks for letting me know your appreciation :).

I hope you will enjoy the rest of the story, which might be another chapter or two. Michelle is obviously in a not-so-favorable position right now, as are hundreds of thousands of other women all over the world, unfortunately. But hey, at least Michelle has Tony and Jack to look out for her, right? :)

Keep reading and keep reviewing, I appreciate your feedback!

* * *

Michelle had remained lying on her side. The concrete floor underneath her face had served to cool down her burning cheek for a few moments before it warmed up. Her head was still throbbing from the blow she'd received. Now that the blood flow to her foot was no longer blocked by her body weight, her ankle had begun to wake up. The numbness in it slowly began to give way to thousands of needles, to warmth, and ultimately to the returning pain..

She made no effort to sit up. but she did open her eyes. The first thing she noticed was a small puddle of blood on the floor underneath her nose. Further down, she was almost topless. Her blouse was nothing more than rags and the only other thing she wore was a black bra. In an effort to buy herself more time, she shut her eyes again.

Yet the peace only lasted a few seconds - until Sanchez backed up towards the door, and told Diego,

"Secure her."

Diego immediately shoved his weapon into his waistband and started to approach Michelle.

"No," Sanchez said, stretching out his hand. "Give me the gun."

Diego looked at his boss a little quizzically, but then nodded, and obeyed. He proceeded to slightly lift Michelle up from the floor and drag her across the room. She refused to help him, making herself as heavy as she could. He set her down in the middle of the room under a hydraulic hook dangling from the ceiling. He returned with a steel chain and wrapped it around her wrists three times. She didn't fight him. He walked over to a remote controller built into a wall, and lowered the hook. Finally, he attached the chain to the hook and began to raise it again.

As the hook began to heave her up from the floor, pulling on her wrists, elbows, shoulders, Michelle closed her eyes, inwardly praying that she was right about Tony. She knew what was coming, but whatever pain she was about to face wouldn't be worth it if he was in fact dead. She tried to help lessen the strain by kneeling and crouching as the machine continued to rise.

Once she was standing, every additional inch of height that the hook gained meant an inch of torture. It climbed higher and higher, finally stretching all of her limbs fully. She tried to slightly raise her heels from the floor to alleviate the strain in the shoulders and the weight resting on her ankle.

That's when Sanchez finally said, "Stop."

--

Tony estimated he and Jack had progressed about half a mile to the North now, staying between trees, and he could see dense woods not too far away. After sitting around for so long, and the explosive fight thereafter, simply running a stretch like this was a welcome change, and a good way to awaken his body. Though tired from lack of sleep and nutrients, he pushed himself onward, putting both his mental and physical strength into continuing. Focused on finding his way across the dusty, dark terrain and remaining undetected, he'd successfully been ignoring the hunger, the tiredness and the slowly bleeding cuts in his arm and leg. This was about dodging a bullet.

And the bullets were never far. Sanchez's henchmen, AKs ready to fire, were slowly driving down the road to the side of the trees, one of them always scanning each yard of space, zigzagging a mighty flashlight beam through the trees. Pursuit had so far remained behind them, but Tony felt them closing in, the roar of the jeep's engine the only reason he and Jack could continue to run without being heard. Tony felt like they were only seconds away from being exposed. He kept looking for something to hide behind, an option other than just dropping to the ground and hoping to blend with it. They couldn't allow themselves to be recaptured.

The jeep was only ten yards away when Tony finally saw a large rock to the side of the path they were running on and pulled Jack's arm, gesturing to the rock.

"Jack, over there," he said quietly. "Geddown."

Jack saw it and they both rolled down behind it within seconds, waiting. Over his own regular breathing, Tony noticed Jack was slightly panting for air. He looked Jack over with a worried look on his face but stayed quiet.

The jeep was on top of them, the flashlight hovered over the ground, approached from the left, passed above the rock, and continued to the right. When the jeep had finally moved further North, Tony raised his head at Jack.

"Jack, you alright?"

Jack began to pull himself up, taking a deep breath. "Yeah."

Slinging the Heckler&Koch over his shoulder again, he added, "I should probably quit smoking."

Also having risen to his feet, Tony gave a small chuckle and patted Jack on the shoulder. "I thought choppin' wood keeps ya fit."

Jack glanced at him with a half serious smirk. "Not like one day at CTU."

Tony grinned in agreement and scratched his cheek. "Alright, let's keep movin'."

"Yeah," Jack mumbled and took the lead.

Tony turned towards the compound he'd just escaped from. It still wasn't further away than maybe 200 yards, being as they'd been moving through the circle of trees around it. And Tony genuinely hated the idea of moving much further... With a sigh, he gave himself a push and caught up with Jack within a few seconds.

"Jack, listen," he began, and waited for Jack to acknowledge his words.

"Yeah?"

"We can't go too far. Michelle's still in there."

Jack turned his head to Tony. "I know," he replied, looking him in the eye, "but we can't sit around here, either. We have to find a place to lay low and come back for her with a plan."

Tony nodded, sighing. Then he stopped walking.

"Look, I've been thinking," he began. Jack halted, too, and listened. "Sanchez's crew is pretty decimated right now. But if he has any resources in the U.S., he's gonna call for back up. He's gonna make that place air tight. We're never gonna get inside again without literally gettin' shot to hell."

Jack nodded. That made sense. "So, what's your suggestion?"

"We go in _now_," Tony said emphatically. "They're still out looking for me, _now _is the only time they won't be expecting me back. They may not even know you're here. And there's someone on the inside who might be able to help, the guy who turned off the power at the fence, who assisted my escape. He said he'd watch over Michelle but frankly, I'm... not sure how much he can do."

Jack glanced at the ground and looked back at Tony. "How _is _Michelle doing?"

Tony heaved a sigh. When he replied it was in a whisper. "Not good."

Jack grasped Tony's shoulder. "We'll get to her. You have to believe that."

Tony raised just his pain-filled stare to meet Jack's eyes. "Yeah."

Jack squeezed Tony's shoulder again, then let go of him. "Come on, let's at least get inside the woods."

He began marching. Tony wordlessly followed.

--

Danielle Kreuk wasn't sure what to think of the place she'd just been brought into. If someone had told her just twenty-four hours ago that she would be looking for her husband in a place like this, she might not have believed them. The building - and its surroundings - was more like a fortress than any other place she'd ever seen before. The bland hallways she was marching through were lit, but only with half of the neon lights. Bullet holes in the walls stood witness to the recent gunfire, as did spent cartridges and a few blood-bathed dead bodies which lay scattered all over the floor. Danielle tried to take it all in, but then again, she tried to ignore it, too. If Jack had been right, then these people were not the kind that she should be feeling sorry for. However, she couldn't help it, to a degree - both as a doctor and as a human being. It crossed her mind that some of them might have had families that they would now never return to. She observed each body while passing it by, instinctively looking for any signs that the men might still be alive, searching for someone she could possibly help. But no one moved. Not one of them appeared to still be breathing.

The fortress turned more into a dungeon as Rafael directed her down a steep corridor which would lead them to the underground belly of the building. Only about every third neon light was working in this area, the cones of light touching at their edges every few yards. She and Rafael had just begun their descent when a figure appeared around the corner. In the somewhat murky area, she recognized the silhouette. It was Marco.

Taken by surprise, Marco couldn't completely hide a trace of astonishment on his face, but tried to instantly fake it by moving a hand to his side, where his Glock was holstered.

"Who's that?" he called.

"The wife of some Mr. Kreuk," Rafael replied, shouting over Danielle's head.

Marco's put on a questioning expression as he walked on to meet them. "What do you want with her?" he asked

Rafael shrugged. "Colonel said to bring her down here. I was taking her to the spare room."

Marco stopped in front of Danielle, blocking her further passage. Rafael stepped to the side while Marco nodded at him. "Aren't you supposed to be guarding the gate?"

Rafael rolled his eyes. "Yeah. And I'll go right back when I get rid of her."

"Alright," Marco said, finally drawing his firearm, but keeping it pointed at the floor. "You go back to your post. I'll take her."

"Fine, amigo, whatever you want."

Rafael scratched himself between his legs while walking away. Marco waited until he was out of sight and his footsteps faded away. Then he holstered the weapon and took Danielle by the arm.

"Come with me."

--

Sanchez had approached Michelle to an arm's length, dropped one crutch to the floor and was standing there, staring at her, unblinking. Then he pulled a switchblade knife from his dress jacket, and positioned it between his own eyes and Michelle's.

As the blade readily jumped out, Michelle's heart jumped, too.

A wave of cold sweat traveled from her head down to her feet. Sanchez lowered the knife down, slowly. When the knife touched her naked stomach, Michelle reflexively flinched, but forced herself not to break eye contact with him. His eyelids and pupils seemed to be frozen in a dead stare, He gradually increased the pressure on the knife, starting to smirk as the blade fought to break Michelle's skin. Michelle tensed all her muscles, trying to concentrate on something else, anything, holding her breath.

Suddenly, the knife went through the outer layer of her skin and pierced a hole in her side. Michelle breathed out loudly through the nose but otherwise remained silent. The Colonel slowly led the blade down an inch, while Michelle fought against herself, firmly squeezing her eyes shut, determined to prevent them from tearing up. She didn't quite succeed.

Sanchez was grinning when he pulled the knife away, and all of a sudden grabbed her body and rotated her 180 degrees. Michelle feared he would stick the knife in her back, but he didn't. He only cut up her blouse from the bottom all the way up to the collar, leaving the two halves hanging from her shoulders.

"Get that shirt off her," he said to Diego while cleaning the knife's blade with one end of the blouse. "I'll be right back."

--

"In here," Marco said to Danielle, opening a door for her to pass through. He followed her in, glanced up and down the corridor and shut and locked the door behind himself. As soon as he did, he pulled her into an embrace.

"Are you okay?" he murmured through her hair.

"Yes," she whispered back, "You?"

"I'm all right."

He exhaled slowly, gave her body a squeeze, then pulled back a little, led his palms to Danielle's cheeks and gently connected his lips with hers.

Danielle returned the kiss, her hands sliding down his back, to his waist. Marco's hands slipped into her hair again, slightly pulling her in. She sighed into his mouth, attempting to relax- Soon, she broke the kiss, as if feeling that the time they had was short. She held him by the neck, just far enough away to speak.

"I'm so glad you're here..." she said, "I was scared to death out there."

Marco raised his eyes to hers. "You were out there during the firefight?"

"At the gate," she replied with a slight nod. "Listen, I want to know what Bas has been doing. I know someone tried to escape. Was it Tony and Michelle?"

Marco now pulled back completely so he could look at her. "How do you know their names?"

"It's a long story. I brought a friend of theirs here to help them, someone named..." she paused, then reconsidered, "Ray Keagan. He told me Bas had kidnapped them. He said they were being held here. Is it true?"

Marco nodded, marginally noting that Jack Bauer was still alive, "Yes, it's true. Tony managed to escape but they've gone after him. Michelle's still here. It's not looking good - "

He stopped explaining when he heard footsteps outside the room. Touching a finger to his lips, he gently pushed Danielle away from him, into the room, while he remained by the door, leaning on the wall with his hands behind his back.

The door clicked and opened to reveal Sanchez on crutches. He first gave Marco a glare, then looked Danielle over.

"You're Danielle Kreuk?"

Danielle took a couple of seconds to stare back at him, then confirmed. "Yes."

"You're a doctor?"

"Yes."

He nodded towards his injured leg. "Then I need you to fix my knee."

--

Inside the woods, Tony was finally feeling a little safer. He was literally watching Jack's back, walking behind him. Occasionally, he'd glance over his own shoulder, making sure they were still alone. They hadn't seen the jeep for a few minutes, and something about that made Tony feel uneasy. They could be walking into an ambush for all he knew. He readjusted the Kevlar vest he was wearing, but knew that it'd be of no use if he came face to face with trigger-happy Kalashnikovs. And Jack wasn't even that much protected. Michelle's face appeared before Tony's eyes again, the moment he last saw her - courage, fear and hope all right there in her features... _At least one of us has to make it. One of us has to save her_, he thought, looking at Jack, prepared to do whatever it took to ensure Jack's survival if it came to that, even playing a human shield.

From somewhere close by, someone's heavy breathing reached Tony's ears. He stopped dead in his tracks and pulled Jack back, too. They crouched, starting to look around to localize the source of the sounds. And they found it: at their one o'clock, a boy was lying on top of a girl on a picnic blanket on the ground; two kids making out, nothing dangerous. Tony breathed a sigh of relief. Jack gave him an amused glance, and Tony just responded by slightly tilting his head and grinning. Rolling his eyes, Jack signaled Tony to move around them and Tony nodded. A bright yellow Ducati motorcycle was leaned against a tree a few yards away from the couple. Tony and Jack had just walked by it when Tony saw dancing flashlights coming from the trees on their 11 o'clock. Jack saw them, too.

"Dammit," Jack whispered as he pulled Tony down into a crouch behind some bushes and took the sniper rifle off of his shoulder. Tony drew his pistol, preparing to fire, too, but knew that Jack would have no problems taking out the two goons. Jack just watched them through the sights, however, not engaging. Somewhat puzzled at Jack's hesitation, Tony whispered,

"Jack, whatcha waitin' for?"

Not losing his aim, Jack replied calmly, "I think we should capture them alive.".

Tony grimaced in disagreement. "What?"

"Think about it. They're our only link to the inside of that compound."

Tony glanced at the two youngsters. They still seemed oblivious to their presence. He lowered his voice even more, just in case. "You're not gonna try to trade them for Michelle, are ya? Sanchez will shoot them himself before he'll do that."

Jack set the weapon down, giving a slight shake of his head. "No, but we can turn the tables on them, we can interrogate them. And maybe we can use them to get back inside."

Tony took a few seconds to think. He could see Jack's point, although he wasn't completely sure it would work out that easily. But he decided they should try. With a small sigh, he lowered the pistol. "Fine, so what do you wanna do?"

Jack handed him the sniper rifle, and pointed towards the Ducati. "I'm gonna grab that motorcycle."

While Jack was stealthily nearing the motorcycle, Tony was keeping Sanchez's goons in his crosshairs, itching to take them out. Jack's plan could indeed work - but it could just as easily cost both of them their lives, and then Michelle would have no one to come back for her. And it would only work if Sanchez was more about profit than revenge and kept Michelle alive. He glanced at the youngsters, and as he did, he realized how much he was missing the times when he could just relax with Michelle, just be. It seemed like an eternity since that picnic in the park before he proposed to her. He honestly didn't know if they could ever feel at such ease again. He threw a look at Jack - he was almost at the Ducati.

Michelle's near-rape vividly came back to him yet again and soon his thoughts began to revolve around what might be happening to her right now. _That man, that monster... Sanchez won't let her fight him off a second time. He'll make sure she can't_. The fear slowly began to float to the surface, almost blurring his vision. That's when he ordered himself, _Stop it, Almeida! You lose focus, you're all dead_. He blinked to clear his eyesight and returned his attention to the task.

Jack saw the keys in the ignition but rolled the Ducati a few yards away without starting the engine. The two youngsters were too involved in what they were doing to notice the theft but Jack glanced at them, just in case.

As soon as Jack was clear, Tony joined him, the HK in his hands, and jumped onto the seat behind Jack. "Let's move."

Jack gunned the engine, and the bike's headlight ripped the darkness all the way to Salvador and Armando. Tony squeezed off two rounds in the general direction of the men. The boy and girl sat up, and she screamed at the shots.

"Stay down!" Tony yelled at the young ones. "Move it, Jack!"

Jack sped away, followed by the rattle of the Kalashnikovs and the men running behind them.

--

Sanchez was seated in a chair, one trouser leg rolled up above his knee. Danielle had taken a seat in a chair opposite him, examining his knee. Marco hadn't moved from his spot by the wall, silently keeping watch.

"So, what can you do about it?" Sanchez asked her grimly.

Danielle cautiously let go of his leg and looked at him. "I'm afraid I cannot do much here. You need to get to a hospital where you can be properly examined with appropriate equipment and get suitable treatment."

"Well, I can't do that right now," Sanchez retorted, "I need to be on a boat to Mexico in a couple of hours, and I have a long trip to Venezuela after that. I want to be able to walk to that boat tonight, you understand?"

"Well, I can't do magic," Danielle replied, leaning into the chair.

"Listen to me, woman," Sanchez whispered lowly. Marco took a silent step away from the wall, trying to remain in a position which allowed him to see Colonel's hands. "Bas Kreuk and César Sanchez were friends, but I always told him having a family is a mistake. Man becomes dependent, you know? Anyway... César doesn't need to be friends with you. You will fix this knee so it works until tomorrow."

Danielle took a long breath, exhaled slowly, watching him carefully. Then she folded her arms at her chest.

"I have my medical bag with pain medication and some basic supplies in my car. I can try to stabilize your knee enough so you can walk if you don't put too much strain on it, although I would not advise you to do so. Your leg needs rest. But if you're so keen on moving around, the drugs will probably take most of the pain away for a few hours. Now, if your people can find some ice, you can cool the knee, it will help with the swelling. That's the best I can do, and as a doctor I _will _try my best." She paused just a second before adding, "But I'm not doing anything until I see my husband."

Sanchez narrowed his eyes. His lip began to tremble again. "Woman-"

She stood. "I _want _to see Bas. Now. In the meantime, you can send someone out to get my bag from the car."

Sanchez took his time to control his anger. "You better watch your mouth, woman," he finally said through his teeth. Then he turned to Marco. "Take her to see Kreuk. And send someone for the bag."

"Yes, Colonel."

Marco gently took Danielle by the arm and led her through the door. As soon as the door closed behind them, she looked at him and whispered,

"He's dead, isn't he?"

Marco turned to her with a sigh. "Yes... I'm sorry."

Danielle took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, then said, "I want to see him."

"It's not a pretty sight..."

She remained standing without saying anything. Eventually, Marco sighed. "Okay, then."

--

As soon as he was alone, Sanchez dialed a number on his cell phone.

"Yes, Colonel?" a male voice picked up

"You know what I want, Alec," he noted dryly.

"Yes, Sir..." Alec replied and cleared his throat. "Well, I've managed to reach five men I trust. They're not Hispanics, Sir, but I've known them since the Navy, and I've worked with them on several other assignments between D.C. and San Francisco. They're on their way."

"Good," Sanchez said, "I won't need them long. How long until you all get here?"

"About an hour, hour and a half, Sir."

"Hurry up. I want Kreuk's people gone as soon as possible."

"Understood. They'll be taken care of when we get there."

"Good."

--

Jack rode the bike to the edge of the woods and out onto the round. He swooshed past the jeep at first, but then veered into a sliding stop nearby. Tony took out the front right tire of the vehicle with two shots, then the Ducati rolled ahead, raising a cloud of dust to hide in. Jack rode to the top of the nearest hill, and had made it there before the two men emerged from the woods. Tony fired another round into the ground next to them, just calling their attention to his location just before Jack took the bike down the other side of the hill.

Salvador jumped into the jeep, and even managed to set it in motion. It moved slowly, but it moved. Armando rode shotgun, watching for Tony and Jack. The jeep had just climbed over the hilltop when it bumped into something. Armando tried to continue onward, he couldn't. He tried to back up, and that failed, too. The jeep's front wheels were just spinning freely in the air. The vehicle was blocked. They dismounted the jeep and looked underneath it - it was the Ducati bike they'd hit. The car wasn't going anywhere, so they tried to localize Tony and Jack with flashlights. Nothing. No trace of them. But less than a hundred yards ahead, there was a house with a garage, an old, once-white Volvo V70 that looked like it hadn't been moved in ten years and an industrial-size trash container.

"Hey," Armando nudged his colleague, nodding towards the building. "Let's check that out."

"Okay," Salvador nodded back and they quietly began to approach the house.

From behind the trash container, Jack and Tony were watching the men. They'd been right. The goons had fallen for the trick. Jack pulled on the gloves again. They'd been useful in fingerprint avoidance so far, and it was that time again now. Tony passed the Heckler & Koch over to Jack.

Armando pushed his hand through a hole in the front door's glass window which Tony had previously broken, and opened the door from the inside. As soon as both men were inside, Tony and Jack darted towards the house.

"Ten seconds," Jack whispered before running around the back, while Tony remained by the front door, counting down. It was one of those houses where the front and the back door were more or less opposite each other, with the living room between them. _Two, one, zero. _Tony kicked the front door open. At the same time, Jack came in through the back. The two shocked Latinos ended up right between the ex CTU agents and their firearms.

"Drop the weapons!"

"Drop 'em! Now, now!"

"Drop the weapons!"

"Don't be stupid! Drop it!"

"NOW, do it! Now!"

"Drop 'em!"

Between the two men whose state of mind he barely knew and their determined faces, Salvador obviously decided it was safer to surrender. He threw his hands up in the air and yelled over the shouts, "Okay, okay, don't shoot!"

"Put it down!"

"Okay..." Salvador slowly crouched, lay his weapon down and pushed it over to Jack.

"Now you!" Tony yelled at Armando. "Do it!"

Armando was still hesitating, glaring at Tony with the Kalashnikov undecided in his hands. Tony took an intimidating step towards him, leading with the SIGSauer. "DO IT!"

"Okay!" Armando finally complied, and pushed the AK47 to Tony.

"Take the wall!" Jack shouted at both of them, pointing at the nearest white wall. "Hands on your head!"

While Tony watched the men from the door, weapon pointed at their heads, Jack frisked them, searching them for hidden weapons and freed them of two backup pistols, one extra magazine each for their AK47s and a couple of combat knives. In one of Salvador's pockets, he even found flex cuffs and pulled them out. He secured both men's hands behind their backs and finally pulled them away from the wall one by one.

"Knees."

They wordlessly followed Jack's order and knelt down. Jack then gave each of them a push with a foot, making them lie down on their stomachs. Only then did Tony lower the weapon and let out a longish breath. So far so good.

--

Marco and Danielle were just a few steps away from their destination. Before walking to the door, Marco stopped and took her arm, holding her back.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied and stepped around him, walking to the door.

"Wait," Marco tried to catch her again but she was already too far.

When she appeared in the door, she met with the barrel of a firearm in her face and a man behind it, preventing her from entering. Her eyes widened at the unexpected welcome and she stopped.

Seeing Marco behind her, though, Diego lowered the gun. "Who's that?"

Marco pointed at the body on the floor. "His wife."

Michelle recognized Marco behind Danielle. So he was alive. And still undercover. Those two facts made her breathe easier for a moment. If nothing else, it meant that Tony's breakout hadn't blown Marco's cover, not yet anyway. Marco glanced at her for just a second but then looked back at Diego again.

Now that the gun was gone, Danielle pushed herself past Diego. "Oh, Bas..." she whispered while approaching the corpse. She knelt down by his head and touched his hair. Lifeless, his tall, strong body looked awfully weak. "Bas..."

Marco looked at Diego and nodded towards the corridor. "Give her a minute, will you?" he whispered.

"Uh-huh," Diego shook his head and pointed at Michelle with his weapon. "Can't leave her alone."

Marco shook his head. "They're not alone. I'll watch them. You need to send someone to fetch Mrs. Kreuk's medical bag from her car. Colonel needs it immediately. Go."

Diego didn't seem so sure.

"Go," Marco repeated.

Diego gave all three people in the room a glance before he eventually moved. "Fine, I'll be right outside."

He picked the radio up from the floor but before walking out or contacting anyone, he lingered by Danielle's side. She raised her eyes at him; a tear or two were rolling down her cheeks.

Diego gave a slight nod towards Michelle and said to her: "Her husband did this to him."

Danielle shoot a look at Michelle, then glanced at Diego again. And while she returned an angry glare to Michelle, Diego smiled, then finally left and posted himself by the door which he left slightly ajar. He began to talk to the guards at the gate. Danielle broke eye contact with Michelle for a moment and glanced at Marco.

Marco glanced at Diego, at Danielle, at Michelle. Then Danielle and Michelle locked eyes.

Slowly, Danielle stood and backed up, taking two steps away from Kreuk's body, then one towards Michelle. Then another. Marco left his position and caught up with her before she reached Michelle.

"Danielle..." he uttered, grabbing her forearm.

She yanked her arm free of him and walked on, leaving him behind.

Michelle watched Danielle - the woman's tears had dried up and for some incomprehensible reason there seemed to be no hatred in her eyes, despite her resolute footsteps. Michelle wasn't about to mourn Kreuk but she felt sorry for this woman who'd probably had nothing to do with Kreuk's dirty business. She glanced at Marco for a second; all she really wanted was to ask him what had happened to Tony.

Danielle couldn't turn back towards Marco or Diego and she had to act fast. She grabbed Michelle's throat but only pretended to squeeze it, then quickly leaned in and whispered in Michelle's ear.

"Tony made it out. Jack's here."

That was all she'd managed to say before Marco pulled her away, peeling her off Michelle.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Danielle didn't answer him, but she allowed him to keep a hold on her and began to back up with him. Diego had burst in through the door when Michelle called after Danielle:

"I'm sorry about your husband."

Danielle only allowed her eyes to smile at Michelle for a moment, understanding her real message, then she brought anger back to her face while turning away. When Diego shouted at her to get out, she wordlessly obeyed.

His face a mixture of shock and confusion, Marco followed her out, and shut the door behind them.

--

Jack, still wearing gloves, was sitting on the brown leather couch of the living room, keeping an eye on the men on the floor, the sniper rifle resting against his thighs. Five handguns lay neatly ordered on the oak wood coffee table in front of him, along with a tall glass of water and a blue-rimmed white plate with a few crumbles on it. The AK47s and Tony's Kevlar vest were lying on the carpeted floor to his right.

Tony, wearing only his blue jeans and a fresh bandage around his injured forearm, walked out of the bathroom and swung a fresh black cotton shirt over his shoulders. While he started to button it up over his perfectly trained abdomen, he glanced at the prisoners, then at Jack.

"Feelin' better?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Fantastic," Tony said with raised eyebrows.

He finished buttoning up, leaving the top three buttons open, and sat down next to Jack.

"Here," he said, handing Jack a black garment, "long sleeve."

"Thanks."

Grabbing a Glock from the table, Tony checked the weapon's barrel, released its clip and started to count the rounds in it.

"Tell me about the compound," Jack said quietly, laying the long sleeve tee to the side for now. "What kind of security besides the fence? Where do you think Michelle will be?"

Tony glanced at the men again and sighed. "High-tech surveillance. Electronic locks. Watchdogs. A maze of corridors. Most of the compound itself is built underground, and that's where Michelle is going to be."

"How many men?"

"Aside from Sanchez and these two idiots here, maybe five. Two at the gate. One on our side." Tony set the Glock down, and grabbed a Beretta, proceeding to check her ammo status.

"Could you get him to shut down the fence again?"

"I dunno how to reach him," Tony said, but then looked at their prisoners. "But maybe they do."

Jack glanced at them, too, then took a couple of seconds to consider things. "Alright, so if we take out the two guards, get past the fence, avoid the machine gun and make it inside the building-"

"Forget it," Armando mumbled from the floor.

Jack nearly instantly walked over to him and grabbed his shoulders. "What did you just say?"

"I said, forget it."

Tony stood, tightly gripping the Beretta in his hand. Stepping closer, but not too close, he did his best to keep his composure, fighting the urge to shoot this bastard.

Jack hauled Armando up to his knees. "Why?"

"Cause you'll be late," Armando said smugly, "Colonel already asked for more men and they're arriving within the hour. And when they get here, I think he won't sit and wait for you to attack."

Jack looked at Tony. Tony nodded, "The transport. He's still plannin' on going through with it."

Jack pushed Armando back to the floor. "Lie still and shut up," he commanded before stepping towards Tony. "Then that's our best shot. We'll attack the transport."

Tony'd known this was coming but he shook his head in protest. "Jack, that's too risky."

Jack came even closer. "_Anything _we try is gonna be risky. But attacking them on their own turf, in an underground secured compound with all that security in place, and Michelle unable to run - if we do this and he sees us coming, Tony, he _will _kill her. "

"You don't stand a chance anyway," Armando interjected again. "By the time you get there-"

"SHUT UP!!!" Tony yelled, his blood suddenly boiling. He leaped over to Armando. "Shut up!" He kicked Armando's side, pointing the weapon at his head. "Or I'll kill you right here and now! Ya hear me?"

Armando rolled back over to his stomach but tried to lock eyes with Tony from his position. Salvador tried to inch away from his colleague, away from a prospective bullet. Tony cocked the gun, trembling with anger and frustration, glaring at Armando with eyes full of fire.

Jack stayed where he was, not interfering other than to calmly utter, "Tony..."

For a few long seconds, Tony wrestled with himself not to pull the trigger. His breathing sped up, he gritted his teeth, feeling the gun in his hand wanting to fire and Jack's eyes on him.

Eventually, he released the hammer on the weapon and lowered the gun. With a glance at Jack, he backed off. Striding away with a loud sigh, he shoved the Beretta into Jack's hand and disappeared in the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind himself.

--

Michelle's wrists were slowly starting to feel numb. She couldn't tell how long she'd been waiting; it might have been an hour, it might have been more or less than that. Time seemed to have lost any meaning. There was just one reality, and that reality was a steel chain, a cold floor, an infected ankle which felt like it was burning and cold air beating her almost naked upper body. She looked down on her stomach like she'd done countless times already. The thin streak of blood had frozen on her skin, the blood in the incision itself had clotted, too.

The physical pain was still bearable; it was in her mind that the terror was growing like a giant wave. From each memory of the past two days, it picked up more and more strength along the way. She could no longer control where her mind was going - feelings were taking over. She once again recalled Sanchez's "demonstration". The image of the woman's bruised and scarred body, the submission and disgust unified in the same person made her skin crawl. She knew she'd have to find lots of strength somewhere inside herself if she wanted to hold out, but she was feeling weakened and tired. She didn't know where to start looking for it.

And then the door finally opened. Using only one crutch as a cane to support his injured leg, Sanchez walked in, drew near a chair and sat down on it. Without looking at Michelle, he produced his wallet and removed a photograph from it, which he turned over for Michelle to see. It was a photograph of a man in his fifties, in an orange prison jumpsuit. Michelle briefly glanced at it, then looked away.

"You know who that is?" Sanchez began. "Juan Jésus Sanchez."

He caringly looked at the photograph, for the first time displaying some tenderness and compassion in his eyes, and carefully placed it back into the wallet. "My father," he explained.

He paused and looked over Michelle, from her feet to her face while he returned the wallet to the jacket. "My father was a great man. He did everything hard. He worked hard. He drunk hard. He fucked hard. And if that bitch that called herself mother had got off her lazy ass and found a job, he would still be alive today."

César rested his elbows on his knees. "But she keeps telling him there is no jobs. Sitting around the house, cleaning here and there, playing mother. He told her many times. If she had a job we would not be poor." He paused for a moment. "And she - she was like you. A rebel. She talks back. Tells him he drinks too much!"

He leaned back in the chair, raised his eyes at Michelle and included a dramatic pause in his recount. Michelle stared back at him, finally beginning to understand where all his hatred was coming from. It didn't make her feel better. César's eyes went cold again as he added, "Well, one day, father had enough. He beat that bitch dead."

He stood, and slowly paced towards Michelle. "Sadly, his friend we was living with called the cops. They put him in prison in Utah. Father died there. Some... inmates, that's how you call them, I believe, they didn't agree with him."

Sanchez stopped, leaning on the crutch, just inches away from Michelle. "See - family just means problems. Better not have it."

He threw the crutch over to Diego, and rested both his hands on Michelle's hips. She wanted to kick him away, but her body simply couldn't do it.

"Women," César said, slowly leading one hand to the small of her back, "are trash."

The smell coming from his mouth, the terror inside, his hand slowly gliding into her jeans - they all started to make Michelle sick to her stomach. She began to tremble again and shut her eyes, trying to block out everything but what strength she still had in her.

Sanchez's hand reached the edge of Michelle's panties and he kept it there. "If you tell me who helped Tony break out," he whispered to her ear, "You'll save yourself a lot of pain."

Michelle knew beyond any doubt that this was a lie. Whatever she did, or said, he wouldn't spare her any pain - it would be like taking away a child's favorite toy. Her only hope was for Tony to come back for her before she couldn't hold out any longer.

"Well?"

Her eyes and voice had only contempt for the man touching her when she said, "I don't know."

Sanchez pulled his hands free, then slapped her face. "We'll see about that."

--

Tony was standing above the sink, both hands leaned on it. His face wet, he was staring at the white ceramic without really seeing it, and tried to take deeper breaths to slow down his heart rate. Then he closed his eyes and hung his head.

Jack took off the light colored shirt he was wearing and pulled the t-shirt Tony had found for him over his head. It fit. He instantly returned his watchful eyes to Armando and Salvador.

Danielle Kreuk rubbed her arms to warm them up. She was sitting by herself in a small room, staring at the closed door.

Marco Whistle was standing in the corridor opposite the room, staring at the same door from the outside with the same puzzled look he'd had when he led her out of Michelle's cell.


	17. Wheels in Motion

**A/N: **Well, well, well, Season 7 of 24 is over...I must say I can live with the way it turned out. I can also say it ranks very high in my book, but I don't wanna start a discussion on that now.

The good news is that, after some serious deliberation, I've decided not to abandon this fanfic, and it is with some pride that I'm presenting you the penultimate chapter of "Blowback". I hope you enjoy and review.

* * *

Jack picked up the last 9mm bullet from the glass coffee table in front of him and loaded it into the half full clip for the Beretta pistol that was lying on his lap. 142, the grand total of their ammunition. He'd consolidated the ammo as much as he could, ending up with four instead of five handguns to carry, three of them with full mags. The two Kalashnikovs with one extra magazine each and the Heckler & Koch that still had ten rounds in her completed their arsenal. Not too much, but it'd have to do.

He loaded the clip into the weapon, then slid off the couch. Kneeling down on the carpet, between the table and the three rifles laid out on the floor, he began to shove all the weapons into a nondescript black sports bag. He left the SIGSauer Tony had gotten from Marco and a Glock semi-automatic pistol on the table. He'd just set the Kevlar vest Tony had worn on top of the weapons and zipped up the bag when he heard the key click in the bathroom door. He glanced at the clock on the wall: it had been seven minutes since Tony disappeared in there.

Jack sat back on the couch and threw a quick look at the men on the ground. They were quiet. They were also both still wearing their vests. He planned on annexing one for his own protection when the time came, but for now the goons could keep them. Removing the vests would be a bit tedious while they were restrained anyway.

It was another ten seconds before Tony reappeared, shoulders slumped, head low, his face pained but somehow calm at the same time. He stepped into the room silently, almost inaudibly, as if he'd wanted to remain undetected. He didn't say anything, he just glanced at the prisoners, at Jack, and then just froze in place, as if waiting for Jack to make the first move.

Jack did, without breaking the silence. When he walked up to Tony, it was with an inquisitive stare on his face. Understanding Jack's mute question, Tony let his eyes sink for just a moment, then raised them again and nodded, sighing softly.

With a soft grasp of Tony's shoulder, Jack gave a nod of his own.

Tony let out another sigh, as if ridding himself of the weight of the world. Then he quietly said, "Let's get them to the garage."

"Yeah."

Jack picked up the two pistols from the table, gave the SIGSauer to Tony, and kept the Glock to himself. Tony released the magazine to check if it was full, slid it back in again and chambered a round.

Jack watched Tony with interest, trying to determine his state of mind. He knew Tony well enough to know he could still function in the field, despite the worries in his head. But he also knew that Tony just might freak out if he failed to protect Michelle, or failed to save her.

When Tony wordlessly moved towards the other men, Jack grabbed him by the forearm, stopping him, and said in a low voice,

"How do you wanna play this?"

With the darkest expression on his face, Tony stared back at him, glanced at the prisoners, and finally replied, in a deep, calm voice, "Just let me do this."

Jack let him go.

--

While Jack picked up the weapons bag from the floor, Tony hauled the two men to their feet.

"Try to screw with me and you won't live long enough to laugh," he promised them.

Armando lifted his chin up and stared straight at Tony. "What do you want from us?"

"Answers," Tony said simply.

"Then you can kill both of us right now," Armando stated with defiance. "We don't know anything."

Salvador's gaze dropped.

Tony coldly stared back at Armando. "If you convince me of that, maybe I will... Move."

Jack took the lead, followed by Armando and Salvador, and finally Tony. He opened the garage door and paused for a second to assess the new surroundings. Four concrete steps led down to the garage level. The parking space in the middle stood empty. The walls, painted a cold shade of blue, were lined with workbenches, auto supplies, shelves and tools; a typical garage with the obligate mess.

As soon as Jack stepped through the door and down the first of the steps, Armando pushed his body into Jack, leading with his right shoulder, and sent Jack down the stairs faster than Jack had planned to go. Jack stumbled but caught himself enough to control his fall. He rolled over his right shoulder and his back, landing on his feet and almost instantly turned towards the attacker again, going for his gun.

Reacting just as fast, Tony shoved Salvador out of the way with one hand while readying himself to shoot at Armando with the other. Salvador fell to the side of the stairs and screamed in pain. Tony ignored him. With his hands tied behind his back, Armando couldn't really do much else but try to kick the weapon out of Tony's hand. Tony deflected the kick with his right arm, then stepped behind Armando.

Jack had raised the Glock in Armando's direction, but with Tony in the way and in motion, he didn' thave a shot.

"Tony, get out of the way!" Jack yelled.

Instead, Tony took Armando into a sleeper hold, with the pistol stabbing Armando's spine.

Although the situation seemed under control, Jack watched Tony vigilantly, gun ready to plant a shot between Armando's eyes.

"Tony?" he questioned.

"I'm fine!"

With his arm safely locked around Armando's throat, Tony walked him through the garage door and down the stairs. With each second that passed, he held him tighter, closing off his air supply a little more.

Jack glanced at Salvador. The man was lying on the floor, grimacing in pain. Jack looked him over; his left foot was pointing outwards.

"You, come here!" Jack commanded, gesturing with his weapon.

"I can't walk!" Salvador whined, "I broke-"

"THEN CRAWL!"

Salvador picked himself up and instantly obeyed.

Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him in the middle of the parking space. "Sit right there! Don't move."

Right then, Armando somehow managed to get his hands between Tony's legs and tried to thug at his sensitive parts.

_What the hell is this balls fixation today?_ Tony thought, annoyed, before he violently shoved Armando towards a wall and fired a shot at him, as if he were a metal swaying cowboy at a town fair's shooting stand.

He didn't miss.

Armando's stance broke. Blood began to happily rush from his left thigh. He slumped to the ground without a wimper.

"Now, sit tight and shut the hell up," Tony commanded. As he watched a puddle of blood begin to form underneath Armando, growing larger by the second, Tony knew he'd have to work Salvador fast.

"Jack, check the door," Tony said, nodding at the sliding door at the other end of the garage.

Jack nodded in response and ran over to the door. It was locked, but there was a remote sensor, which meant that it could be opened from the outside at any given time. Jack fetched a hammer and broke the sensor.

Then Tony told him darkly, "Give us some space."

--

Danielle Kreuk lit a Camel, threw the match down on the concrete floor and stood from the chair she'd been sitting on. Slowly, deliberately, she walked over to the nearest wall. There, she turned, and like a wild cat roaming her cage, directed herself to the opposite end of the room, while deeply breathing in the smoke. Eleven steps. Like an olympic swimmer would when reaching the end of the pool, she touched the wall and pushed herself away from it before moving back again - another eleven steps. And another eleven... All that was missing on her cage were steel bars. But the electronic lock at the door was more than sufficient to keep her inside.

"Marco, where the Hell are you?" she whispered to the quiet air around her.

It didn't respond.

She took another drag from the cigarettete, and exhaled in one long breath that seemed to let out every last molecule of the air in her lungs. She played with the lighter that was still in her other hand, turning it in her palm numerous times without being aware of it. She sucked on her cigarette so hard that with the next drag, the orange glowing end of it had almost reached the filter.

Her shoes connected with the floor fifteen more times before the display on the electronic lock flashed green. She put out the cigarette and assumed a waiting position in front of the chair. From the pit of her stomach, nervousness was rising. She tried to force it down by swallowing hard.

The nervousness dissipated the moment she recognized the person about to enter.

"Marco, finally," she said with relief as he stepped inside.

"Hey..." he uttered lowly while the door fell shut behind him.

Danielle took two large steps towards him, ready to hug him. Marco remained where he was.

She suddenly stopped at an arm's length, a puzzled look on her face. "What's wrong?"

Marco scratched his chin, glanced at her, at the floor, and back at her again. There was a cryptic stare in his own eyes which he couldn't and didn't try to hide. An odd look of confusion, mixed with pain and guilt.

"What is it?" Danielle asked again, her voice now betraying a slight note of worry.

Marco passed an open hand over his skin, from the neck to his lower lip, squeezed his chin slightly, then took a long breath and finally made himself say,

"Look, about your husband..."

Danielle shrugged. "What about him?"

Marco pushed his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans. "Well, I know you loved him, and he's the girls' father, and I... I'm sorry."

Danielle raised an eyebrow. "Why? You didn't kill him."

Marco's gaze dropped to the floor again. He might not have personally killed him, but he had personally delivered him to Tony. From where he stood, it felt like he'd pulled the trigger himself.

He'd spent many minutes outside Danielle's room, thinking. However he'd turned it, twisted it, pondered it, it came out wrong...

This was going to be the hardest confession he'd ever made. Even now, he still didn't know how to tell her. He just knew he _had _to somehow.

But when she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, Marco raised his eyes to meet hers. He expected to see the same hurt in her eyes that he'd seen when she saw her husband's dead body. But he didn't. Instead there was calmness.

"Look, the bastard had it coming," Danielle stated levelly, almost without emotion. "He got what he deserved."

Marco's eyes widened and his head tilted to the side. For a moment there, he had no reply. Danielle saw his amazement and placed her other palm against his chest. The hand slowly slid towards his free shoulder while she softly said,

"Look, I did love him... and I'll miss him... But you more than anyone else know that things haven't been good lately.. And with what happened today and what I learned about him, my views have changed dramatically."

Finally, Marco managed to stutter, "But... Inside, with Michelle..."

"Oh..." Danielle softly set her other hand to his chest and led it up to his free shoulder, "I just wanted to tell her that Tony had escaped, and that Ray Keagan was here, that's all."

Marco didn't know what to say. .

Danielle produced a half-smile. "I should have told you before we went in... But I didn't know what to expect."

Marco nodded numbly; his head was spinning. Absent-mindedly, he led his hands up her buttocks and to the base of her spine. He pulled her a little closer.

--

While Jack hurried back inside the house, Tony nonchalantly ambled to one of the benches, inspecting the tools that hung above it or lay on it. Within a minute or so, he'd picked up a hammer, two differently sized hacksaws and a battery-powered drill and carried them over to the center of the room. His eyes firmly set on Salvador, he laid the tools down on the concrete, one by one, as if making a statement.

Then he crouched between the two men and set the firearm he carried down, next to the drill.

"What are you trying to do?" Armando said with scorn in his voice.

_I'm not _trying... Tony thought, but ignored him for now, and spoke to Salvador instead.

"The bastard the two of you are working for is holding hostage the woman I deeply love," Tony said levelly, somehow managing to keep the inner turmoil from showing in his tone. "He's planning on puttin' her on a boat tonight." He fixed his stare at Salvador. "_You _know when, you know where, and you're gonna tell me. You'll also tell me what kind of backup he's expecting and everything else I wanna know."

Silence.

Tony nodded. He didn't expect it to be that easy, though he knew in his gut that it wouldn't be too hard.

"See, I don't have the truth serum on me and this ain't a government agency," he almost whispered, "So here's how this is gonna go down..." He picked up the smaller hacksaw and gave Salvador a dead stare. "I will use everything at my disposal to get this information out of you. So, if you'd prefer to keep all of your limbs, I suggest you start talking."

Each of Tony's words seemed to install more fear in Salvador's eyes. Tony heard Armando move and threw a quick look at the man.

Armando had pulled his strength together and his body up against the wall he was leaning on. "Your lady is a sweet one," he said lowly.

"Got somethin' to tell me?" Tony scoffed.

"Yeah..." Armando was breathing like he'd just come back from a 12 mile run. "I heard her scream..."

A wave of fear washed over Tony. For a second there, he didn't know what he wanted more: to shut Armando up or to hear what Sanchez had done to Michelle.

"Colonel don't like betrayal..." Armando added.

Tony chose to take control. He hopped up with the SIGSauer in his hand and leaped over to Armando, stepping into the sticky puddle of blood on the floor as he rested the cold metal against Armando's forehead.

"You'd better think very well about the next words to come out of your mouth," Tony told him coolly, "Cause if I don't like what I hear, I'll cut your pain short."

Armando's lips stretched into a thin grin. "Vete - al infierno."

Tony pulled the trigger.

Armando's head dropped with a fresh hole above the nose.

Having taken control of the situation, Tony stood for a few seconds, arm frozen in place, trying to regain control over his body and mind. A few deep breaths were all the time he could allow himself, even if that alone wouldn't suffice to calm his worrying heart.

Salvador's quiet gasps brought him back to the reality of the moment, and the need to take advantage of it. Tony launched himself at the man, grabbing the guy's dislocated ankle with one hand and a hacksaw with the other, and touched the tool to Salvador's shin.

"You wanna keep your limbs intact, you'd better start singing, cuz I'm seriously running out of patience!" Tony yelled, pressing down on the hacksaw.

"No, no, por favor!" Salvador begged.

Tony drew blood from the ankle. "TALK!!!"

A whimper escaped Salvador and he finally relented, "Okay!"

Tony kept the pressure on the hacksaw and prepared to listen.

--

Danielle had heard Michelle scream a few times before Marco walked in, and now another scream penetrated the little room where they stood. She glanced at the door with fear, and asked heavy-heartedly,

"What are we going to do? Sanchez will kill Michelle in the end."

Marco slid his arms around her shoulders to comfort her.

"No, he won't." He whispered, closing his eyes, willing himself into believing his own words.

"How do you know that? You can't know that."

Marco sighed. "He's trying to break her," he said, and a look of true fear caught Danielle's face. "It's what he does," he added.

Despite the fear, Danielle didn't look away. He sighed, and squeezed her shoulders a little more, as if making sure she was there, and there to stay, before explaining the rest of it to her.

"She's worth nothing to him dead... He'll keep her alive, and put her on that boat. "

"But we can't just let him, we have to do something..."

Marco pulled back with a sigh. "Danielle, listen to me. Trafficking is his business. He'll sell anyone he can. And that includes you."

"Me? But Bas was his partner..." Danielle tried.

"_Was_. He's dead. And you've seen things you weren't supposed to see... That's my fault, too. I didn't see this coming... But now... Sanchez won't let you go. He could kill you or put you on that same boat and sell you to some ruthless prick down in South America. I can't let that happen."

"Well, what are you going to do? "

"I have to get you out of here..."

"But how?"

"I don't know yet... I don't know, all I know is that we have to try as soon as we get a chance." Then he let go of her and took a long breath. "Even if Michelle doesn't break, Sanchez has instructed his backup to kill everyone who worked with Bas. Which leaves us... minutes, not hours."

"But... What about Michelle?"

Marco took a step back and rubbed his face with both palms, turning away from Danielle. For a moment there when Tony was getting ready to escape, all Marco had wanted to do was reassure Tony, let him have his revenge, do whatever he could to help; for a second there, he'd forgotten Danielle was on her way, he hadn't even thought about the fact that he was about to deliver her husband to execution... Not until _after _he'd agreed to call Kreuk down to the holding room and couldn't go back.

"Please don't make this any harder than it already is," Marco whispered through his fingers.

When Danielle remained quiet, he dropped his arms to his side, and softly added. "I promised Tony... to take care of Michelle. But..." he sighed, "now there's nothing I can do for her short of killing Sanchez," he continued his reasoning, "Yet, if I do that, none of us will make it out alive... Not you, not I, and certainly not her."

He looked at her apologetically and said softly, "Maybe I can help Tony from the outside... But I have to get you out of here first..."

--

"Who shut off the electric fence?" Sanchez asked Michelle for the twentieth time since he started the interrogation.

Michelle's body felt heavy. Her hands were numb. Her eyes were closed, a mixture of blood and saliva trickled from the corners of her mouth. Her left wrist was broken, from the chain wrapped around it, her weight hanging from it and the jerking of her body every time an electroshock hit. The pain from the fracture was already almost unbearable, though the throbbing and pounding in her head promised her it would get worse later. Her stomach and back showed several burn marks. Sanchez's thug stood to her side with two rubber-isolated cables and waited for further instructions from his boss.

"Who helped him?" Sanchez asked again. "Tell me and the pain will stop."

Michelle feebly pushed her eyelids up, forced them to stay open while she raised her stare towards him. She did want the pain to stop. More than anything else at that moment. But telling on Marco after what he did for them... She couldn't. She'd blow his cover, she'd get him killed. She couldn't do that... And she had no idea where Tony and Jack were...

How much longer would she still have to hold out?

How much longer _could _she hold out?

--

Jack peered out from behind the drapes on a window. The darkness was undisturbed; nothing moved. As far as he could tell, they were safe so far. But they couldn't stay here much longer. He needed to do a recon run of the surroundings, get back to the compound, see for himself if Sanchez's backup was already there, see if they were even still at the compound. Even though he had no exact intel on when Sanchez would be mobilizing, he felt in his gut that the time was short. The house was built in a depression, with trees on each side, and the hills surrounding it offered both a strategical advantage and disadvantage.

He let the drapes fall into place again. They needed real-time intel if the mission was to succeed, but leaving Tony alone just about now didn't seem like such a great idea.

Jack shook his head. Here they were again. Soldiers, fighting a war, doing whatever's necessary to take out the bad guys and save the innocent... As much as they'd tried to escape it, this world always just caught up with them; there _was _no escaping. And he realized, maybe this _was _them, more than either of them wanted to admit...

_There's a difference, though_, Jack rationalized. _You had a choice this time around - Tony didn't_.

For a while, he listened to Tony firing questions at Salvador and the continuous flow of answers in return. Tony had broken him. Easily, it seemed. And Jack, how many things had he done lately that he'd hoped never to have to do again? And yet he did, and it had come naturally. Easily, like riding a bike. Like breathing. Sometimes he hated the killing machine he'd become.

Occasionally, he'd catch a word or two of what was said in the garage, but most of it was just background noise. And for a moment, he couldn't help but inwardly frown at the irony. Him, Tony, Michelle - they'd all left that world in order to survive.

And now that world was their only hope of surviving.

And then his thoughts took a detour and he began to wonder how much of it all was really _them_, and how much was CTU. All those years, cumulative decades of protecting the country, serving the Government, ready and willing to lay their lives down for the right cause, the whole mindset of stopping the bad guys by all means necessary - was it really that natural or was it just the training? Could they ever go back to being whatever they'd been before it all?

He didn't answer his question, but he didn't need to: neither of them were the same person any more... CTU sometimes seemed like an octopus with a hundred arms, reaching around each and every corner, and under every rock, finding them wherever they tried to hide. It crept up behind you like a phantom and transformed you into something else, something you'd never thought you could be. It was more than a place of work, more than a government agency. It was _in_ them, under their skin, in their blood.

It would never let them go.

He noticed that his own thoughts had distracted him only when, instead of the continuous back and forth of the voices, he became aware of a few moments of silence. He remembered what he'd initially been thinking about. They couldn't stay here much longer, they were too exposed. The house was too obvious, too easy to find. What he and Tony had originally used as a ploy to outsmart the enemy now screamed "find me". They were sitting ducks.

Finding his focus again, he glanced out of the window again, seeing nothing but the black.

"Don't move," he heard Tony say, and then footsteps followed, as Tony left Salvador to stare at Armando's dead body.

Jack gave himself a push and met Tony halfway into the room. "How'd it go?"

Tony nodded. "I got the information we needed." He'd found that once Armando was dead, Salvador was a pretty chatty person. "I know there are no absolutes but after I killed his partner, I didn't need a polygraph to see he was scared enough to tell the truth."

Jack stopped just an arm's length away from Tony. "Good, so what did you find out?"

Tony took a long breath and rested his hands on his side. "Sanchez has asked for six men as backup and they are probably arriving at the compound as we speak _or _are already there. And it looks like the transport is scheduled for 3 A.M., which gives us just over an hour to prep and execute our operation. The boat will dock just South of Bodega Bay, off Doran Beach Road. Unknown number of hostiles on the vessel but all expected to be armed."

"Bodega Bay," Jack echoed. He remembered it from Tom's spreadsheet. It made sense. "That's just around three miles from here as the crow flies. We'll have to be quick if we want to take them out before they reach the beach."

"Yeah, but that's not all," Tony sighed, his head tilted to the left.

"What is it?" Jack asked, sensing Tony's discomfort.

Tony lowered his eyes, while the image of the wordless submission of the young woman back at the compound and Michelle's frightened face hit him like a nightmare again. He took a long, heavy breath before forcing the information to come out.

"Apparently, Sanchez is bringing twenty South American women _into _the country on that same vessel."

Jack wearily rubbed his eyelids. He stayed silent but soon returned his gaze to Tony, whose eyes, filled with conflict and hurt, wandered a little before he raised them at Jack.

"Look, uh..." Tony finally uttered, "If we attack that transport before it reaches the harbor, the women on that boat are doomed."

Jack shook his head in disapproval. "Tony, I know where you're coming from, but we can't save _everyone_. Our resources are very limited, you know that. We have to focus on what we _can _accomplish. Our mission objective _has_ to be rescuing Michelle."

"Don't ya think I _know _that, Jack?" Tony said emphatically. "Don't ya think my heart bleeds more with each minute that ticks away? D'ya think I'd ever forgive myself if..." He bit his tongue. "But this isn't only about Michelle any longer..."

As Tony's voice faded, Jack turned away and took a step back.

Tony fought a tightness in his chest but underlined, "I can't walk away, Jack," knowing what Michelle would want him to do. "And neither can you."

"Dammit, Tony, I'm not talking about walking away," Jack said energetically as he spun to face Tony again. "We can call in the Coast Guard."

"Yeah," Tony tilted his head, finding Jack's eyes. "And you're willing to answer their questions, too?"

Taken aback, Jack stared at Tony in silence. _He's right. I can't allow the Coast Guard to lay eyes on me. We have to do this on our own_.

"I've seen what he does to them," Tony whispered with anguish in his voice. He couldn't force himself to elaborate, and was glad when Jack finally caved in.

"Fine. We'll get them at the harbor."

Tony nodded, heaving a sigh. _Why is it that knowing you're doing the right thing doesn't automatically mean you feel good about doing it? _

Slowly, he began to retreat.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then called after him.

"Tony."

Tony stopped and waited for Jack to join him. Jack didn't. Instead, Jack backed up, away from the garage and towards the front door. Tony followed him there.

"What is it?" Tony asked, suddenly feeling exhausted.

Jack lowered his voice. "If we're gonna pull this off, we're gonna need some help."

Tony nodded in agreement. "Yeah, well... Marco will be on our side."

"We don't _know _that," Jack said in a persuasive voice. "We don't even know if he's still alive. His cover may have been compromised by your escape."

Jack was right. Marco could be dead, although Tony would rather not have considered that option. Tony folded his arms at his chest and sighed loudly. "Fine, so what are you thinking?"

Jack hesitated, and just locked eyes with Tony, as if trying to read him. Tony stared back at him, wondering what kind of a bomb was waiting on the other side of Jack's moment of hesitation.

"What?" he asked impatiently.

Then Jack just said it. "Sebastián."

Tony's eyes widened in shock. "No."

"Tony -"

Tony shoved an index finger against Jack's chest. "No, Jack! You're not dragging him into this!"

Jack calmly replied, "Tony, we could use the help."

"I SAID, NO!" Tony yelled, shoving Jack towards the nearest wall. "Seb stays out of this!"

Jack pushed Tony back, creating some distance. "Tony, just _think!_ Sebastián served in the Army, he's seen combat. We can trust him. If you want to get Michelle back alive, we _will _need all the help we can get!"

"We'll make it!"

"Tony!"

"SHUT UP, JACK!" Tony yelled, pushing Jack hard. He slammed him against the wall and pinned him there, arms across Jack's chest.

Jack could have fought back but there was no point injuring each other before a battle, so he stood still and let Tony vent like he'd known he would.

"Keep him outta this, y'understand me, Jack?" Tony shouted, exasperated. "Having one family member's life on the line is enough, I'm NOT jeopardizing another!"

Jack just glared at Tony, not saying a word. Tony's right arm slid higher, to Jack's throat, and he began to choke him.

"Promise me!" Tony yelled.

Jack grabbed Tony's arm with both hands, starting to push it down. Tony pressed down harder.

"Promise me!"

Jack seemed to be waiting for Tony to cut off his air, but then he grudgingly agreed. "Fine. Let me go."

Now it was Tony who hesitated, trying to read in Jack's eyes whether this was a promise or a play.

Jack's trachea had started to feel really uncomfortable. If Tony kept this up, Jack would have to take counter-measures. But for now, he just croaked, "Let me go."

Tony waited another second or so, and then finally stepped back, not breaking eye contact with Jack.

"I'm tellin' ya, Jack... Keep him outta this..."

Eventually, he directed himself to the garage, throwing one last doubtful look at Jack before disappearing in there.

--

Marco's radio chirped and a metallic-sounding voice announced, "All units - we have an ETA on Alec's crew: five minutes. I repeat: five minutes."

"All _units_?" Danielle questioned, while Marco was tying a loose knot in the rope he used to bind her arms behind her back.

"Ah, he digs cop talk. Watched too many movies," Marco replied, finishing the knot. "Is this okay?"

Danielle tried to move her arms. The ropes didn't fall off but they weren't too tight, either. "Yes, that's good."

Marco stepped to her front and took out a black hood, which he then set on the zenith of her head, and held on to it with both his hands for a moment.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Danielle asked anxiously.

"It has to," Marco replied confidently, planted a soft kiss onto her lips, and slowly pulled the black hood down, covering her face with it. He kissed her forehead through the fabric and whispered, "Just trust me."

"I do."

"Let's go," Marco uttered, and cautiously opened the door.

--

Sanchez signaled to his man to back off, and positioned himself in front of Michelle. "You're tougher than I thought," he said. "Just one thing I don't understand - why?"

Michelle had no strength to engage in a conversation. She remained silent.

"There's no reason for all this pain, Michelle. Just tell me. Whoever shut down the fence ain't helping you now, is he? And Tony... He left you behind, didn't he? He didn't care. He ran to save himself. And he's dead. So why are you protecting them? Why not make your life easier and just tell me what I'm asking?"

There was a long silence, and then Michelle quietly uttered Tony's name.

César Sanchez moved even closer. "What did you say?"

"Tony... lives."

Sanchez hit her face with a strong backhand, sending blood spraying on the floor below. Leaning on the crutch in his left hand, he grabbed her hair with his right and put his lips almost to her ear.

"I'll give you a count of ten to tell me who helped Tony. If you don't, I'll cut you down and let each of my men have you right here, right now. And the same with every man on the boat and every man you meet all the way down to Perù..." He paused and now got so close to her that his nose touched hers. "Because, Michelle, you _are _taking that boat tonight."

Then he hopped a step back. Eyes fixed on hers, he began the countdown. "Ten... "

--

Marco had led Danielle through the building without any of the men questioning his actions. There weren't many to begin with, and those still alive had their hands full. At the main door, he stopped to look about once more. The electronic lock had been shot to hell, so all it took for the door to slide open was a gentle push.

Marco stepped into the gentle breeze and into the night. There was no other way out but through the front gate, and that's where he directed himself and Danielle. He wasn't startled when one of the two floodlights on the roof found them. Sanchez had had it repaired in a rush, and Marco had expected it. Danielle suddenly stopped, however, and he had to give her a convincingly rough push to get her to move again.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm authorized to be out here. Just keep moving."

Indeed, no one shot at them. The light's beam even helped Marco see the ground ahead. "We're almost at the gate now," he whispered to her just before a flashlight's beam blinded him, and a faceless uniform yelled,

"Halt! What do you want here?"

Marco pulled Danielle back, and stopped too. "Look, I'm Marco Whistle, I need to pass through that gate now."

"Why?" the voice asked.

"That's none of your business," Marco tried. "Boss's orders."

The uniform flashed the light to Danielle's dark hood, then to Marco's face. "Who's she?"

"That's also none of your business."

A moment's hesitation on the other side of the gate was followed by the expected, "I need to call it in. Wait there."

But Marco couldn't wait. As soon as the wanna-be cop lowered his flashlight, Marco pulled his silenced handgun and blew the guard's face away. Then he did the same with the other guard, and at that moment, took the black hood off Danielle's head and began to pull her forward by her right arm.

"Run."

She did, and while she ran, she freed her hands. Just as she reached the gate, she threw the ropes to the ground. Marco took a shot at the gate's lock. It sprung open, he let Danielle through, and ran off after her.

--

"Three..."

In order to motivate Michelle even more, Sanchez had stepped on her injured ankle and rested all of his weight there. The crutch gave him the stability he needed on his own injured leg, allowing him to release his weight and bring it down again at regular intervals, causing Michelle to scream each time.

"Two..."

Tears ran down Michelle's face like waterfalls, what from pain, what from shame and fear.

But as Sanchez slowly uttered, "One..." she reached her limit.

"Marco..." she said loud enough for him to hear.

"What?"

"M... Marco... Whistle..." she repeated and instantly hated herself for it.

Sanchez smiled smugly. "Marco Whistle? The guy on Kreuk's crew who brought you here?"

"Y...yes..."

Sanchez stared at her a few more seconds, as if to make sure she had told him the truth. Then he nonchalantly stepped away from Michelle and sat into the chair a few feet back.

"Kill him," he told his goon and leaned back, "and send two men in here."

--

In the garage, Salvador was lying face down on the concrete floor, not daring to move. Tony walked back and forth, a few steps away, staring numbly at something in the palm of his right hand. It was a tiny photograph of Michelle. It had suffered a little today, but the creases in the paper couldn't damage her beauty. Tony sighed. _They _couldn't. But Sanchez...

Tony sighed to himself. He kept trying not to let his fear distract him, but it was next to impossible. How could he not think about it? All his actions over the past hours revolved around saving Michelle, but time kept ticking away, and there was a very real chance the rescue attempt might come too late. What if Sanchez changed his mind about making profit and chose simple revenge instead? What if she was already...

_No_, he stopped himself before he could end that thought._ No, don't think like that now._ He wanted to convince himself that he would _know_ if it happened, that he'd feel it...

Would he?..

He suddenly became aware of footsteps from within the house. It could only have been one person.

"Jack, where ya goin'?" Tony called out, returning the photograph to his wallet.

"To the bathroom," Jack yelled back. A few seconds later, the door clicked and locked.

Tony shoved his wallet back into his jeans pocket, and waited; one minute, two, three. As time passed, he couldn't help a grain of doubt settle in his mind. This was taking too long. He knew Jack too well. If Jack was supposed to be keeping watch, he'd keep watch. He wouldn't leave his post and disappear for minutes at a time - not to go to the bathroom, not to do _anything at all _without prior notice. Jack seemed to be in control of his body at all times.

Acting on his intuition, Tony gave himself a push, and went inside the house, wondering what was really going on.

"Jack, we gotta pull out," he called from the hallway, waiting to hear which direction Jack would reply from. "There's nothing else we can do here. We're sittin'- "

At that second, the bathroom door flung open and Jack walked out, right into Tony's inquisitive stare. Tony immediately noticed a handset in Jack's hands. _I knew it..._

With disappointment settling in, he questioned, "Y'always take the phone with you into the bathroom?"

"Back off, Tony," Jack retorted and tried to shove Tony to the side in order to pass him by.

_Oh no, you're not. _Tony thought, stepped into Jack's path, and caught Jack's right arm with one hand, while pushing the left flat against Jack's chest. "Who were you callin'?"

Jack stared at Tony, but refused to reply.

Tony shook his head in disbelief, not really needing a verbal answer to understand.

"Damn it, Jack, I thought I'd told you!"

"Listen to me, Tony-"

"No, you list-"

"Listen to me!" Jack said pointedly, as he got right into Tony's face. "What will happen to Michelle if we fail? If Sanchez takes her away? _Someone had_ to know what's going on. If we don't make it, your brother is her only chance!"

_Uh-huh_... Tony thought. He gave a doubtful nod and smirked. "That's why you called Seb? To tell him what's goin' on."

"Yeah," Jack said simply, though he could see that Tony wasn't exactly buying it.

Tony knew his own brother even better than he knew Jack - and he knew Jack too well. "All right... So what'd he say?" he asked with that suspicion in his voice that told Jack any further denial was useless.

"He's on his way."

"Damn you, Jack!" Tony yelled, forcefully pushing Jack backwards.

Jack shoved him back and shouted, "I didn't ask him to! It was _his_ decision!"

Tony lashed out at Jack but Jack caught his arm first and stopped it in mid-air. "Just like it was _Kim's_ decision to pose as Jane Saunders and not mine."

Tony's jaw dropped. _You son of a bitch... _

"_You _told me that, remember?" Jack added, holding Tony's stare.

Tony knew he'd been disarmed. _Yeah, I remember... _he replied inwardly. _It was different, though. Kim had full tactical support from CTU, didn't she? And even so, I still almost lost Michelle to Saunders after that. _

His stare suddenly filled with disdain. _Alright, Jack. You win._ Finally, he backed up. Then he walked away.

_Sorry, Tony, I had to do it, _Jack thought while watching him leave._ We ran out of options. _

A couple of steps from the garage door, Tony halted. Unable to bear looking at Jack, he uttered with his back towards him, "When's he coming?"

"Less than thirty minutes."

_From where he lives, it should take him at least ninety_,Tony thought. He slightly looked over his shoulder, his eyes strictly at the floor.

"How?"

"He was at Black Point on business today." Jack answered factually. "He was going to stay the night. There's a small airfield about five miles out. He'll try to get someone to fly him over to Bodega Bay and wait for us there. "

Tony nodded. _Should have known you're always thinking. _

Numbly, he retreated to the garage, and this time, shut the door behind him.


	18. Family ties

Hey all :o)

Yes, I'm still alive... I know some of you still care about this fic, cause I've been getting reminders and requests to update over these past six months. Thanks so much for that :). You've repeatedly made me see that I can't just leave this undone. Keep it up ;o)

The reasons for my absence are irrelevant here, let's just say my creativity has been seriously impacted. what I'm posting here has existed for several months now, but I've only recently managed to look at it again and get it to some kind of a publishable status. I don't really love it, and I've pretty much lost the passion for this fic, and for 24 in general, I guess... and the catastrophic news of Tony's non-return in season 8 isn't helping. sorry if that was a spoiler (who knows, there still might be a chance that it's just an intentional mislead on the part of FOX).

Anyhow, I've decided to post some of what I have. On the flip side of the coin (the good side), this means that the story doesn't end here yet. There's going to be another chapter, possibly two. But I haven't quite figured out some of the details yet. So, I can't promise you when I'll get it done. But I will. Eventually.

Since it's been way too long... the chapter is preceded by s a "Previously, on Blowback" to refresh your memory.

* * *

[While Jack stands guard at the living room window of a private house they broke into, Tony interrogates Sanchez's goons in the garage.]

"The bastard the two of you are working for is holding hostage the woman I deeply love. He's planning on puttin' her on a boat tonight_.You _know when, you know where, and you're gonna tell me. You'll also tell me what kind of backup he's expecting and everything else I wanna know."

[Armando provokes Tony, who eventually pulls his firearm and holds Armando at gunpoint]

Armando [with a grin] "Vete al infierno."

[Tony shoots and kills Armando.]

[Now that Armando is dead, Salvador is visibly scared. Tony grabs the hacksaw he'd fetched earlier and touches it to Salvador's shin.]

"You wanna keep your limbs intact, you'd better start singing, cuz I'm seriously running out of patience!"

"Okay!"

--

[Tony goes up to Jack in the lounge and updates him]

"I got the information we needed. Sanchez has asked for six men as backup and they are probably arriving at the compound as we speak _or _are already there. And it looks like the transport is scheduled for 3 A.M., which gives us just over an hour to prep and execute our operation. The boat will dock just South of Bodega Bay, off Doran Beach Road. Unknown number of hostiles on the vessel but all expected to be armed."

"That's just around three miles from here. We'll have to be quick if we want to take them out before they reach the beach."

"Yeah, but that's not all. Apparently, Sanchez is bringing twenty South American women _into _the country on that same vessel."

"We can't save everyone."

"I can't walk away, Jack. And neither can you."

--

"If we're gonna pull this off, we're gonna need some help."

"Fine, so what are you thinking?"

"Sebastián."

"NO!"

"Tony!"

[Tony slams Jack against the wall and pins him there.]"Keep him outta this, y'understand me, Jack? Having one family member's life on the line is enough, I'm NOT jeopardizing another!"

"Fine."

--

[Jack walks out of the bathroom with a phone in his hand. He'd just talked to Sebastian, Tony's brother.]

"Damn it, Jack, I thought I'd told you!"

"What will happen to Michelle if we fail? If Sanchez takes her away? _Someone had_ to know what's going on. If we don't make it, your brother is her only chance!"

"So, what'd he say?"

"He's on his way."

--

Sanchez interrogates Michelle, who's hanging from the ceiling by her wrists. She's beaten, bruised and bloody, only holding onto the knowledge that Tony has managed to escape, and the hope that he will come back for her.]

"I'll give you a count of ten to tell me who helped Tony escape. If you don't, I'll let each of my men have you right here, right now. And the same with every man on the boat and every man you meet all the way down to Perù..."

[He steps on her injured ankle with his full weight, causing her to scream each time he brings his weight down. She's crying.]

"Three... Two... One..."

"Marco... Marco Whistle."

--

[Marco to Danielle Kreuk in her holding room] "Trafficking is his business. He'll sell anyone he can. And that includes you."

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I have to get you out of here."

[Marco leads Danielle across the yard and to the front gate. She's wearing a black hood over her head, and has her hands "tied" behind her back. The guard at the gate sees them.]

"Halt! What do you want here?"

"That's none of your business."

[Marco shoots both guards and the lock at the gate. Danielle throws her ropes to the ground and runs through the gate. He runs after her.]

* * *

It took the guard on top of the building only three seconds to realize what had just happened. Marco and Danielle had run through the inner gate just as he started shooting from the rooftop. Danielle ran as fast as she could, not daring look behind her. It seemed so futile, trying to outrun the mighty beam of light that insisted on turning the night around them into a frightening day... Gunfire rattled constantly, the staccato of rounds hitting the ground, raising dust too close by for comfort, reminding her that they didn't have much time.

"GO! GO!" Marco kept yelling, as if to remind her that they were running for their lives.

Ahead, her SUV was waiting like a faithful friend, boxed in between the concertina wire and the two gates, the outer one of which was still shut and locked. She couldn't know if they would make it out, but she knew she wouldn't stop running unless a bullet mowed her down, forcing her to. She didn't think beyond the gate. She just needed to get to the car. She ran even faster.

Marco reached the SUV first and tried the door. It wouldn't open.

"Got the keys?" he asked Danielle, who joined him in that second.

"No," she replied with a panic-struck look on her face and glanced towards the compound. A bullet hit the ground right next to her. She screamed and reflexively ducked behind the car. Marco crouched where he stood, and yelled, "You okay?" .

"Open the car!"

Marco leaped to the backseat window and drove an elbow through the glass. The window shattered and he felt the sharp glass edge cut through his skin but didn't feel any pain. He pushed his right hand through and unlocked the driver's door from the inside. Ripping it open, he called for Danielle. He stood between her and the gunfire while she climbed in and moved to the passenger's side, then he jumped in and shut the door.

A shot hit the car, putting a hole into the back window. For a moment, Marco thought that was it. It took him another second to realize both he and Danielle were unharmed.

"Damn," he cursed, "Duck! Stay down!"

Staying low in his own seat, he ripped down the panel under the steering wheel, pulled some wires, and soon had the engine running.

He put the SUV into drive. "Hold on to something," he instructed her while accelerating the SUV towards the closed outer gate.

Then he drove right through it.

--

César Sanchez took his white hat from the chair next to him and inspected it from all sides. It was spotless. With a satisfied smile, he put it on his head and made sure it sat comfortably on his black hair. His wooden chair creaked as he leaned back in it, protesting against his weight. He sent a scrutinizing glance down at his white suit and patent leather shoes. The shoes were shiny again, now that Miguel, that little bastard boy, had cleaned off the blood drops from them. Yet the suit was still speckled with red dots. It was probably ruined.

The chain that Michelle had hung from earlier dangled from the ceiling like a broken branch in a light breeze. He was alone now, and enjoyed the peace. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, as if he wanted to control every single molecule of air that left his lungs. Then he reached for the glass that stood next to him on the floor and brought it to his lips, calmly sipping on his favorite single malt whiskey which he imported from Scotland on a regular basis.

"He escaped, Colonel," he'd been told. "With Kreuk's wife. The American way - right through the front gate."

That was more than an escape - it was an insult. It called for revenge. But he couldn't afford to send out a second search team this close to a transport. He'd called his men off and swore to find Marco and Danielle at a later time. He had a pretty good idea of where to find them.

But for now, he finished his drink, then suddenly launched the glass hard against a wall. It shattered into hundreds of shimmering little crystals. As he watched them reflect the white light from all sides like a lake of sparkling diamonds, he gradually retook control of his inner self.

--

The Chevy Tahoe followed the dark serpentine road quietly, as if it somehow sensed that stealth was crucial to their escape. Marco had manually turned off the headlights, and nothing but the engine's monotonous humming gave away their position.

His radio lay in Danielle's lap, tuned to Sanchez's channel. A little while ago, Sanchez had given the stand down order, but Marco wasn't relieved quite yet. It could have been either a real order or a decoy, intended to make them feel safe while Sanchez launched a search mission behind their backs. Sanchez could have guessed Marco still carried his radio.

But the escape wasn't the only thing on Marco's mind. As soon as he'd lost the compound from the rear view mirror, he softly uttered Danielle's name.

"Yes?" she whispered and tried to produce a small smile, which turned out very tense.

"Look," Marco sighed. "About Bas..."

"Don't..." she whispered, closing her eyes. "I already told you how I feel about that."

Marco glanced at her, then back at the road. "Yes, you did. But you don't know everything yet. I want to be sure you'll still feel the same way when you hear that I could have prevented it."

Now Danielle looked at him, and their eyes met. He saw her searching for something to say. "What do you mean?"

"You told me earlier that I hadn't killed him myself... And no, I didn't pull the trigger. But I _was_ an accessory... And I..." he took a breath. "I need you to know the truth."

Danielle watched him but said nothing, which Marco read as a permission to continue. "During all those months that I'd worked with his crew, I've seen him do some pretty bad things... Unspeakable things. But today, uh... Today Bas crossed a line I hadn't expected to see crossed... And I... There's no denying it, I crossed it with him. Not willingly, granted, but the fact remains - I did."

He noticed he was driving way too fast and slowed down a little.

"I stood by and watched as Bas kidnapped and brutally interrogated Ray Keagan for no other reason but fun. I watched as he gave orders to kidnap Tony Almeida and his wife, as he coarsed Tony into helping him." He glanced at Danielle again for a moment. "All three of them are _ex-Feds_... Bas treated them like scum. Eventually, he ordered Ray killed, then he brought Tony and Michelle here... And I knew what that meant. I knew Sanchez from before. I'd seen Bas do all kinds of trafficking with that bastard, but this... This was too much. I got angry."

Danielle silently nodded in understanding.

"Well, I decided to do something about it. I told Tony I was going to help them escape. Yet Michelle was in such a bad shape she couldn't possibly go with him... And as I watched Tony say goodbye to her, I promised him to do what I could to keep her alive..."

He paused and looked at Danielle. "And when Tony asked me to send Bas down to their cell before he ran..."

Danielle turned away, but Marco couldn't stop now.

"I couldn't deny him the request. Not after everything Bas had done to them... I did what Tony asked me to. I wasn't thinking about anything else..."

She looked at him again just before he said, "I'm sorry."

Danielle remained silent for a few seconds, before her left hand gently glided onto Marco's thigh. "Thank you..."

Marco glanced in the mirror again and echoed his own words. "I'm sorry... I know it won't bring him back..." he covered her hand with his palm. "I just wanted you to know everything. In case something happens."

"I appreciate it," she said, and then looked at him with a mix of vulnerability and determination in her eyes. "But you _make sure _nothing _does _happen. I don't want to lose you, too."

--

Tony slowly ran his hands over the rough hardwood surface of the workbench he was leaning against. Trying to wake up his senses, he stroked the cuts and holes in the wood, then leaned in, resting against his palms, his head just hanging low between his shoulders.

He wanted to be angry, but he couldn't. He was disappointed. Afraid, too. Anxious. Nervous.

"Damn you, Jack..." he whispered to himself. "_Damn _you, Jack."

Jack's latest decision was still eating away at him from the inside out. _Seb's older than the both of us... He's never been in this line of work... How dare you make that call for us?_

As Tony's longtime friend, Jack knew Tony's family and their history. He knew that Sebastián had served with the 82nd Airborne, but that was so long ago that not even Tony dared guess in what combat shape Seb might be at this time, even though they had been practicing Krav Maga regularly; that was primarily for the sake of keeping fit, not preparing for combat. And if Tony couldn't judge Seb's shape, Jack had _absolutely __no _grounds on which to make that assessment... Not that Jack's taking matters into his own hands was any surprise to Tony; more often than not, the only opinion Jack considered as relevant was his own.

Tony closed his eyes, feeling the immense weight of the day set up camp right upon his shoulders. He felt a bit like all those years ago at CTU, after the bombing... When Mason had the EMTs bring Paula Schaeffer back around so that she could give him an encryption code or something... Tony could no longer remember what exactly it had been about, but he remembered _exactly _how he felt back then, watching the dying young woman use her last breath to help CTU. _'The girl deserves a chance to live'_, he'd pleaded with George - in vain.

Later on, Tony admitted to Michelle that Mason had probably made the right call, but that knowledge didn't keep him from feeling horrible when he heard that Paula had died. Working for CTU was the only thing Paula had ever wanted. CTU let her die. Was it really worth it? Was it justified?.. Between his heart and his mind, Tony always got two different answers.

All these years, he'd felt like he might have been able to keep her alive, had he only stopped George... But at the time, Mason ran CTU, Mason outranked Tony, it was Mason's call and that was the end of it.

Today, there was no CTU, no chain of command. Jack didn't outrank Tony.

Jack had no right to do what he'd done.

When footsteps approached Tony from the right, he ignored them. The only person able to walk around here besides himself was Jack, and Jack was the last person Tony wanted to talk to right now.

"Tony," Jack said.

Tony didn't react.

"Tony. It's Sebastián," Jack added, "He wants to talk to you."

At this,Tony glanced at Jack from the corner of his eye, as if to verify Jack was really holding a phone in his hand. Then he straightened up, slowly. He reached for the phone, but then waited, sternly staring at Jack.

Jack handed the phone over, then walked back inside the house.

Tony waited until Jack was gone before he put the phone to his ear. From the propeller noise in the background, he concluded that Seb had managed to find transportation. He inwardly cursed before initiating the conversation with a sigh.

"Seb, it's Tony. Where are ya?"

"Hey little brother," Sebastián shouted over the noise of the nearby Cessna 172 Skyhawk whose propeller was already spinning. "I found a pilot at Gnoss Airfield, close to Black Point. I've made arrangements for an airdrop over Bodega Bay. Should be there in less than 20 minutes."

_Damn it, Seb, when was the last time you parachuted out of a plane? _Tony thought with dismay. "Are you in the air yet?"

"No, not yet," Seb replied and glanced at the orange plane with yellow stripes and propeller. "We're cleared for take off in the next three minutes. I'm just waiting for them to get me a 'chute, then we're a go."

Tony sighed. He had to try. "Look, Seb, I want ya to stand down."

"What?" Seb covered his left ear with his free hand to drown out the background noise.

"_Stand down_," Tony almost shouted into the phone. "I don't want you _anywhere near _Bodega Bay tonight. Y'need to go home to your wife and kid. Jack and I can handle this here."

Seb saw a man carrying a parachute backpack run across the airfield towards Sebastián.

"Sorry, bro, I can't do that," he replied while striding towards the man.

Tony began to march across the garage, away from Salvador. "Seb, I _mean_ it, stay where you are. What am I gonna tell Tara if something happens to ya? Think of her, think of your son!"

Salvador finally saw his chance, and from his knees, somehow staggered up to his feet. Trying to move like a silent cat, he headed towards the house as fast as he could.

"I called Tara," Sebastián responded, "She knows what I'm doing. She agrees that I should be there with you."

The man handed Sebastián the parachute. Seb nodded a thanks and started to hurry back towards the aircraft.

"Seb, please..." Tony insisted, playing his last card. "Please, don't do this."

Now it was Seb who sighed. Right outside the cockpit, he signaled to the pilot to give him one more minute and turned away.

"Hey... Kiddo... Remember when you were in sixth grade and these bullies from your class were harassing this chubby black girl in the schoolyard? She'd just moved over from Pennsylvania..."

"Marcia," Tony offered.

"Yeah, Marcia," Sebastián nodded, a nostalgic smile passing over his lips. "You didn't know her other than by sight, but you got in there alone against four of them bullies and bought her time to get away."

Tony glanced at the floor, reflecting back at the event. He'd come home with a black eye, a bleeding nose and several fresh blue marks all over his body. Mom almost had a heart attack when he staggered in through the door.

"They beat you up pretty good..." Seb continued. "Some would say that was stupid... D'you remember what ya told Dad when you came home?"

Tony nodded in thought, the look in his eyes distant, reminiscent. "That I did what he'd taught us... That we had the duty to prevent injustice, to protect those in need. That I'd do it again, like a soldier."

"Yeah..." Seb smiled again into the phone. "And ya made him proud."

He gave the pilot the thumbs up signal and started to climb inside the plane. "Look, Tony, today, we're both soldiers," he said calmly. "We don't walk away from battles, we fight 'em." He took a seat next to the pilot, set the backpack between his feet and strapped himself in. The propeller began to spin faster as the Cessna started to taxi across the runway. "And don't tell me this ain't my battle to fight," Seb added with authority of the older brother in his voice. "We're a family. Michelle's family. End of discussion, please."

Tony felt a headache creep up on him and put a hand to his forehead, massaging it for a moment before finally giving in to his brother's demonstration of the Legendary Almeida Stubborness.

"Alright," he almost whispered. "See ya on the ground."

"-K."

As Tony hung up, he closed his eyes and slightly pressed his left thumb and index finger against his eyelids. Deep in his gut, he knew that Jack and Seb were right. What he was about to do - challenge Sanchez's small army - would take all the manpower available. But it made him feel no better about putting two family members' lives on the line, about risking his nephew losing his father. Just like knowing that Mason was right about Paula never made it easier for him to accept her death...

Tony finally opened his eyes again and turned around to check on Salvador - and realized he was alone.

"Son of a bitch... " he muttered under his breath and then yelled, "JACK!" instantly taking off after Salvador.

Three steps into the house, he spotted Salvador entering the lounge. "Stop right there!"

At the same moment, Jack came running into the room from the other side, weapon drawn, and raised his pistol as soon as he saw the prisoner. "Freeze!"

Salvador, trapped between Jack and Tony, tied up and unable to run, obeyed.

Tony appeared behind Salvador just a moment later, secured his weapon and pushed it into his waistband. "I got him, Jack."

Jack stayed where he was, waiting for Tony to grab Salvador and bring him back to the garage. Tony did grab the man. But then he twisted his neck without hesitation. Jack watched with slight bewilderment as Tony dropped the limp body to the floor, mechanically checked that Salvador was dead and coolly told Jack,

"Let's move out. There's nothing left here for us to do."

Tony grabbed Salvador's legs and began to drag him across the floor, towards the front door.

After a moment's hesitation, Jack secured his own weapon and grabbed the corpse's wrists.

--

It was quiet in the SUV. No orders came through the radio, no vehicles caught up from the compound, no one said a word. The driving might have been therapeutic, if it hadn't been for all the guilt that was still sitting on Marco's shoulders and in his head.

Suddenly, he made a decision and stopped the car at the roadside.

Danielle gave him a questioning glance but asked nothing.

He paused for a second, as if still contemplating his decision, then turned to her, slowly raised his right hand to her ear, leaned in and kissed her. Still holding her close, he whispered, "Danielle... I love you, you know that, right?"

"Yes."

"And I want to be with you, I do... And I will be. But not right now. I have to go back..."

Danielle nodded as if she'd expected this.

"I need you to take the car and drive right home," he continued, "Don't stop for anything unless you absolutely have to. Just... go home, call Rocko and Walt to the house and stay there with them."

"Why them?" Danielle asked.

"Because Bas trusted them implicitly and they will do _anything _to protect you and the girls. And because they happened to survive this day... He'd sent them out to supervise a delivery earlier."

"All right," Danielle agreed, knowing that starting an argument with him once he'd made up his mind was just a waste of time. "But I meant what I said. Make sure you come back to us alive and well okay? Maggie and Jeannine need a father... And I want that to be _you_."

"I promise you, I will be." Marco kissed the top of her head and added, "See you at home."

"Be careful."

Marco waited until the Tahoe disappeared in the night, then began to run in the opposite direction.

--

The Cessna was just a tiny, moving star in the black nightly sky, flying 3000 feet above the Californian ground when Sebastián Almeida strapped up his parachute backpack and tapped the pilot on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Adem," he said to the Middle-Eastern man in the pilot seat. "I don't know many guys who would have flown a complete stranger out here in the middle of the night without even asking for an explanation."

"That's the way my father brought me up." Adem replied in almost perfect English, colored only slightly with a Turkish accent. "If a man needs help, I'll give it to him. Just pass by my diner the next time you're in Black Point, okay?"

"You got it," Seb shook Adem's hand and slid off the seat. While he was finding his way between the seats and towards the hatch, Adem reached for something underneath his own seat. Extending his arm, he called after Sebastián.

"Hey!"

With a smile, Seb turned to see Adem holding a HK USP semiautomatic pistol in his hand.

"Oh, you gotta be kiddin' me," Seb mumbled to himself and froze in place. His smile faded.

--

"All right, that's it," Tony said to Jack as they dumped Armando's corpse on top of Salvador's, in a ditch, in the woods. "Let's get back to the compound."

"Yeah," Jack wiped his hands on his jeans and adjusted the Kevlar vest he'd taken off Salvador and slung the weapons bag over his shoulders.

Tony grabbed the HK417 from the ground. "Let's just hope no one asks any questions until we're far, far away."

--

Sebastián didn't dare move but he couldn't understand what was happening either. Had he let his guard down? How'd he let this guy take him by surprise? The hatch was still too far away to just jump.

"What the hell is going on? What do you want?"

Right then, he noticed Adem's index finger wasn't on the trigger but on the barrel instead. And then Adem winked at him. "I _am _kidding," he said and put the weapon down. "If you want this, it's yours. It seems to me like you're going to need it, wherever it is that you're going."

Seb let out a long breath of relief. "You scared me," he admitted, while he stepped over to Adem. "And yeah, I'll need it. Thanks." He took and cleared the weapon, checking its magazine and barrel, secured it, and unzipped his jumping suit.

"I'll get it back to you," he promised as he stuck the weapon inside the suit, which he then zipped back up.

"You'd better," Adem said, then checked his instruments. "Open the hatch and hold on. It's almost time."

Seb did as instructed, while Adem flew a slight curve and then announced,

"Okay. Three, two, one, go!"

Sebastián jumped into a free fall.

The cool night air buzzing around his ears catapulted him back to those long gone Army days with the 82nd Airborne Division. He'd volunteered for each non-compulsory exercise, made sure he got as much practice as possible. He'd specialized in HALO (high altitude, low opening) jumps, which allowed him to maximize the flight time before actually utilizing the 'chute. Civilian friends of his sometimes thought he was overdoing it, but he always replied that he'd rather be over- than underprepared.

The truth was, he loved it. He loved the vibrations of the aircraft as it took them high up into the sky. He reveled in the adrenaline rush that always overcame him just before he jumped into the void. He lived for the freedom, the solitude and thrill of the free flight before the 'chute opened, for another chance to become one with the sky, with the air around him. During those moments, nothing else mattered.

Flying to him was like riding a bike. Even now, everything he'd learned all those years ago came back to him easily. He knew how to breathe, where to focus his vision, how to position his body as he gained speed and distance from the plane, falling towards the ground like a rock thrown from a mountain...

Compared to a high altitude jump, the current one was quite short, but it was no less beautiful. The only difference was that this time, the equipment wasn't h is own. He simply had to trust the parachute had been packed right.

Over the years, he'd watched two of his comrades land on the ground with full speed after their 'chutes had failed to open. It was a horrible thing to witness; human bones became human soup. But despite the risk, Seb kept flying - for himself, for the country, and for his fallen comrades.

The Bodega Bay lights grew bigger and bigger, and Seb determined it was time to step on the brakes. He pulled the handle. With a shushing sound, the parachute began to unfold from within the backpack. A couple of seconds later, the air rushing into it formed a colorless mushroom above Seb's head. He inwardly smiled and waited for the touchdown.


	19. Malice

Merry Christmas everyone! :)

And a Happy New Year, while I'm at it! May it be healthy, prosperous and inspirational to all of us.

Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think :)

* * *

Jack and Tony moved steadily but cautiously towards the edge of the woods. Branches crackled under their feet, the moon shone like a lantern through the treetops above their heads. Tony had been thinking about Michelle ever since they'd left the two bodies in the ditch. With each step, the tension in his body grew. Was the information they'd received accurate? Was Michelle alright? Was she still alive? Would Sanchez stick to his schedule?

Jack glanced at his watch: 02:36. "Twenty-four minutes," he uttered lowly.

Jack's voice pulled Tony out of his musings. "What?"

"Twenty-four minutes," Jack repeated, louder this time. "Until the transport. We need that jeep."

"Yeah," Tony acknowledged, and at that moment they reached the small road lining the woods. Atop the hill on the other side of the road stood the jeep that Salvador and Armando had come in, still stuck on top of the Ducati motorycle. What had, a few hours ago, been a successful play to turn the hunters into prey now had to be undone.

Jack pulled the flashlight he'd taken from the garage and circled around the jeep, assessing the situation. The back wheels were hanging freely in the air, the other two were firmly on the Ducati, but there was some space between the vehicles. The keys were in the ignition. Jack remembered passing a pile of wood when taking cover earlier, and shone the flashlight in that direction. It was there.

"Tony," he said simply and Tony knew what to do.

Tony led the way to the pile of wood, Jack following. They quickly found two tree trunk halves which were relatively straight. They brought them to the hilltop and stuck them between the motorcycle and the wheels of the all-terrain jeep. Then Jack hopped into the vehicle and started the engine. Following Tony's directions, he managed to drive it back down to the ground within a couple of minutes.

Almost as soon as the four wheels touched the grass, Tony got in and Jack hit the gas.

--

Doran Beach road was narrow and followed a tongue of land that protruded about a mile or so into the ocean. At the tip of it, the road formed a drop-shaped loop and led right back to the mainland on the same side. The other side of the land was occupied by a white sandy beach which spilled into the ocean and at daytime, had its share of visitors. At this hour, however, it seemed deserted. It was a cool, windy night this close to the ocean, and Sebastián hoped that it was too cool for highschool sweethearts to be camping out here.

He steered the chute away from the water and along the sandy beach, scanning the surroundings from the air, looking for any signs of activity, first on the water, then on the ground: boats, lights, vehicles, movement. He saw none. The whole area was dark. Aware that this apparent solitude didn't necessarily mean that he was indeed alone, he knew that he had to become invisible as soon as he hit the ground.

He picked a spot at the tip of the land and steered himself there. He flew over a small building, unlit at this time of the night. At his landing site, the shimmering moonlight showed him massive, wooden camping tables set several yards apart from each other. He was already flying too low to substantially change the landing spot, but didn't want to risk breaking his legs on the hardwood, so he yanked the chute to the left, turning back towards the beach, just in time. He landed in the sand, and immediately released the parachute.

Having come to a halt, he lie flat in the sand first and took out the night vision binoculars he'd bought at a 24h sporting goods store before heading to the airfield and did another, now more thorough scan of the area. Still no sign of a living soul, at least on the ground. One thing that he knew for sure was that Sanchez's boat should be somewhere close by. They couldn't still be in international waters if the pick-up was scheduled for 3 AM.

He hung the binoculars around his neck and retraced his steps to bury the parachute in the sand before looking for a good venture point.

--

A tall Hispanic man in his 40s progressed swiftly through a narrow corridor whose walls rocked slightly from side to side. He pushed himself off the walls on left and right every few steps, careful not to trip over the uneven floor or to bump his head on the door frames that were almost ten inches shorter than himself. Dressed in black, with large binoculars hanging from his neck, an AK47 slung over his shoulder and a handgun in a hip holster, Domingo was Sanchez's right hand when it came to human transports; not that there was anything human about them. But the Venezuelan with thinning black hair wasn't one to care about humanity. That's why his boss knew he could trust him to get the job done right every time.

As Domingo hustled onward, yellow light from the old lamps in the ceiling flickered nervously. It momentarily lent his face a warm note every time he stepped into the weak light of one of the lamps, before he moved on into the next shadowy space between lamps and darkness almost swallowed him. Then the next lamp would light his manly features again. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days, which underlined his appearance of a hard, no-nonsense man. And it was almost time to prove it once again.

He took a sharp right and seven more steps into a short corridor, passed the door to a utility room and found himself at his destination. He dug out a large key chain from a pocket and stuck a long, rusty key into the lock of the steel door in front of him, turning it three times. The door, an obviously recent addition to the otherwise old boat, gave, and he pushed it open with a flat hand.

A strong stench rose to his nostrils; the room reeked of urine, sweat and other bodily fluids. Most women weren't able to stomach the combination, especially at sea, and many of them had vomited in this dreary cabin over the years.

Domingo was used to the stench. His stomach was fine.

The cabin was pitch black, so he flipped the light switch, immediately immersing the space in harsh neon light. He glanced over his cargo once from left to right and then returned his glance to the woman on the far left. From there, he let his eyes fall on each of the twenty young Latinas in turn, checking them out one by one.

Not a single one of them dared look back at him. He smiled on the inside; he had them fully under control. They hadn't given him any trouble since he'd thrown them into this hole. He'd handled them like he always did, establishing his position early. When the first bitch asked to go to the bathroom, he punched her face so hard that she fell. Then he kicked her stomach so she pissed herself. Since then, no more bathroom requests had come in. By now, he guessed, all of them were sitting in their own excrement. He couldn't care less.

"No one leaves this hole until I say so," he'd made things clear after taking care of the girl's request in his own way. And the only time a woman would in fact leave the room was when his men wanted to dip in. And their appetite was voracious. Most of the time, they didn't have much to do on the boat, so they needed distractions. They were free to do whatever they wanted with the cargo, as long as none of the women died. At a guess, they'd gone through all of the whores at least once during this voyage.

As Domingo stood in the door, he realized that he needed to relieve his own tension one last time before hitting the shore. He chose a fake red-head with big boobs who was seated at the far right in the second row and removed his pistol from the holster, directing himself towards her. Touching the weapon's muzzle to the side of her head, he grabbed her long hair with his other hand and wordlessly pulled her up to her feet. Her eyes instantly teared up, terror written all over her features. But she stood, keeping her stare firmly on the hair of the woman in front of her.

He grinned smugly. He loved this part of the job. He yanked her away from the group and ruggedly pushed her through the door.

--

Tony and Jack were less than half a mile from the compound when Tony noticed movement at the side of the road. He nudged Jack to take a look, immediately aiming the rifle in the direction of the sound, aware that it could be something as simple as a cat, but not willing to take any chances.

"Who's there?" Tony yelled, with his finger on the trigger.

"Tony?" came the reply.

"Who's there?" Tony yelled again, just as Jack swerved the vehicle off the road and stopped, then pulled his own weapon.

A dark silhouette of a man moved closer. His arms snapped up, and he turned his open palms towards Jack and Tony.

"It's Marco! Marco Whistle," he identified himself. "Don't shoot."

Tony glanced at Jack for just a split second without moving his head, then called out. "Step forward!"

The man stepped right into the headlights, and as the dark shadow gained a face, both Jack and Tony recognized its bearer.

Tony kept the rifle steady but took his finger off the trigger and rested it on the trigger guard instead. "What are you doing out here?" he asked with a slight note of panic in his voice, audible only to Jack, and immediately added, "Where's Michelle?"

"Tony, please, let me hop in. I'll explain everything on the way."

Tony glanced at Jack, who nodded. Only now did Tony lower the rifle. "Get in."

Marco climbed in behind Jack and Tony and told Jack to drive. Tony couldn't wait to hear his story, so he repeated his earlier questions even before the engine roared again.

"Michelle's still inside, but not for long. The transport is leaving to Bodega Bay in the next few minutes. Sanchez has called in an ex military unit as backup and they arrived a while ago. Getting inside that compound has just got a hell of a lot harder."

"We're not going inside," Jack growled, taking the jeep off the road, starting their approach through a field instead. "What are you doing out here? Why aren't you at the compound?"

Marco replied to Tony as if he'd been the one who'd asked the question. "I'm sorry, Tony... I had to leave. I was working with Kreuk, who's dead. And Sanchez gave the new guys orders to kill everyone who isn't on his immediate team, which includes me - "

"So you just ran for your life?" Tony interrupted him, unable to hide the contempt in his voice. _Despite having promised me to look after Michelle._

"No, not for _my _life," Marco replied. "Danielle Kreuk - Bas Kreuk's wife - she showed up at the compound..."

Jack glanced at Marco with interest. He'd brought her there. And left her behind.

"...and when Sanchez lost you, Tony, he decided to sell Danielle into slavery instead, sort of, to balance out his profit, I guess... I couldn't let that happen. Danielle has two young daughters who need her."

He heaved a sigh before ending his explanation. "I'm sorry, Tony... I couldn't take Michelle with me any more than you could have."

Jack, angry with himself, was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. He flexed his chin before questioning through his teeth, "Is Danielle all right?"

Marco now moved his gaze to Jack. "Yes. I managed to get her out of the compound ten minutes ago."

"So, what are you doing here? Why aren't you _with _her?" Jack pressed.

Marco's lips thinned into a smirk. "Look, Jack, I don't know how much Danielle told you, but her marriage wasn't going too well for quite a while now, long before I came into the picture. After she hired me as a P.I. to look into her husband's faithfulness, she had already decided to divorce him. I didn't take advantage of her. We fell in love, for real. I care about her."

"Good for you," Jack said dryly. "_Why _aren't you with her?"

Marco produced a small, bashful smile and scratched the back of his neck. He nodded, and after a couple of seconds, replied. "For some reason, Sanchez decided not to follow us. So when it seemed safe, I sent Danielle home and I went back to look for you. I want to see this through with you and Tony. I gave him my word."

Tony wanted to say something about how Marco's promise had been about making sure Michelle _stayed alive _in his absence, but bit his tongue. If Danielle was half as important to Marco as Michelle was to him, then he couldn't blame or judge him. He might have done the same thing in Marco's position. Still, his heart felt like someone was clenching a fist around it. He fought to force a hard breath in, and then let it out as a long sigh.

Finally, he extended his right hand for a handshake. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Marco shook Tony's hand just before Jack cut the engine and announced, "Final stop."

--

Michelle felt cold, freezing. Although the night hadn't been too cold, it felt arctic to her. The air was turbulent with a wind, which seeemed to suck every last molecule of warmth out of her. Her clothes had been torn and she stood barefoot on a concrete plate, hands behind her back. A chain, looped around her chest and under her arms, was fixed to a hook on a vertical steel pole, forcing her to stand. And she was drenched. A garden hose had been left running, showering her with water for the past half hour.

She tried to keep her head clear, tried to find something for her eyes to focus on, attempted to find inner strength by picturing Tony's face before her mind's eye... His image faded every time a jolt of pain ran through her body, a reminder, stored in her nerves, of the horror and agony that she'd been through.

Sanchez was a master of suffering. She'd learned that the hard way. All she wanted was to lie down on the ground and fall into a deep sleep. To sleep forever, in a place where she felt no pain.

But it was next to impossible to think about _anything but _the pain. Every injury screamed out to her. The infected ankle wouldn't support her weight, so she mostly stood on just her other foot. Her head threatened to explode with the tremendous headache from the countless blows and every time her body uncontrollably jerked, as if the electroshocks were hitting her again, the chains around her wrists dug even deeper into the flesh.

She hated to admit it, but she had been broken. Physically, she couldn't defend herself if she'd wanted to. Mentally, she was still trying. But she was terrified. Afraid for herself, afraid for Tony. Afraid of his reaction when he saw her like this.

The glowing beam of the floodlight shone on her from the rooftop, too far away to warm her up. All it did was blind her. She couldn't see beyond it or beside it. As if the painful position she was in wasn't enough, she'd been told that a sniper had her in his sights, with a standing order to kill her if she moved too much.

Many times she'd just wanted to ignore the warning.

Would Tony come for her? _Why not end the pain now?_

She was exhausted.

She passed out.

--

On the other side of the fence, Tony, Jack and Marco were approaching the compound. Marco led them to a spot close to the gate which he'd shot open earlier and signaled them to a stop. They ducked behind some bushes, thirty or so yards from the fence. The first thing Tony noticed about it was the silence. There was no buzzing of electricity, and he said so.

"It was on when I left," Marco whispered back, having no explanation ready. Then he gave a signal to keep moving.

They did, cautiously, moving as a compact group. Tony literally followed in Marco's footsteps, while Jack walked backwards behind Tony, carrying the Heckler & Koch 417 rifle at the ready, keeping their flank and back clear of surprises.

Then Marco suddenly stopped and raised a closed fist to the side of his head.

Tony stopped and relayed the signal to Jack as their backs touched. Then he crouched, while Jack dropped to one knee behind him, and scanned the area 180 degrees from left to right.

Both Tony and Jack looked toward the compound without asking any questions. Marco pointed towards where the floodlight touched the ground. There was a figure in the beam.

"Michelle..." Tony uttered with instant panic in his voice. He started to stand but Jack jumped up and forcefully pulled him down.

"Tony, no."

"Let me go, Jack," Tony yanked his arms free and jumped up again.

Jack grabbed Tony from behind, and this time Marco helped him pull Tony back. "_Stay. H__ere._ It's a trap."

"I don't care!" Tony argued, his voice a little more than a whisper, a little above the acceptable limit.

Jack interlocked his right arm with both of Tony's at Tony's back, and simultaneously pressed his left hand tightly over Tony's mouth. Marco took a stand in front of Tony, with his right forearm firmly against Tony's chest.

"Quiet," Jack growled, "or you'll get us all killed."

As much as he wanted to break free, Tony obeyed. His heart began to race, adrenaline shot up in his veins and his head felt hot all of a sudden. A little voice inside his head told him that Jack was right. Another voice told him that he had to get to Michelle. He made a sound as if wanting to say something, but Jack told him to shut up and pressed down harder on his mouth. Jack surveyed the surroundings for a few seconds to make sure they hadn't been heard.

Nothing happened.

Marco continued to watch the area behind Jack and Tony from his position while Jack whispered into Tony's right ear.

"Tony, take a look around. No guards, the gate wide open, the electric fence turned off, Michelle in plain sight, _seemingly alone_... Do you really think it'd be that easy? Walking in there now is _suicide_. Sanchez is waiting. He has someone watching her, probably a sniper on the roof." He paused to let this sink in before he dropped the bombshell. "I know you don't care if you get shot, but you'll get Michelle shot, too, and I _know _you don't want that."

Michelle regained consciousness at that moment and raised her head. Tony noticed it and peered over Marco's head to see her better.

"She's moving," Jack stated the obvious. "She's alive. We'll get her out, but not if you lose your head. Do you understand me?"

Tony watched Michelle shift weight from her injured leg to the other, her head hanging between her shoulders, water drenching her incessantly... She was shaking. He wanted to save her, not risk her life again. He grudgingly nodded.

"We're proceeding according to plan. Agreed?" Jack pushed.

Again, Tony nodded.

"Good." Jack looked at left and right, and at the empty yard around the compound, then said in a final tone. "I'm gonna step back now. Trust me, I'll knock you out if I have to."

Jack nodded towards Marco, who stepped away, putting a little distance between himself and Tony. Then Jack slowly let go of Tony's head and arms and himself took a small step back, just big enough to allow him to lunge forward and catch Tony again if Tony did try to run.

But Tony didn't. He remained standing when Jack had left him, then crouched again, with a defeated look on his face.

As silently as he could, he crept a few inches closer to the gate and murmured, "You'd better not be wrong, Jack."

--

Domingo zipped up his pants and washed his hands over an aluminium sink. He didn't need the filth from the bitch lingering on his skin any longer than necessary. He ran wet fingers through his hair and scratched the beginnings of his growing beard with both hands. He'd have to shave at some point, he concluded. He'd never liked the way his facial hair grew.

The red-head he'd just raped was standing in the corner of the cabin, holding her stomach and crying.

"Pathetic", he murmured. He preferred those that fought back. He gave her one last scornful glance and tugged at his radio, calling one of his youngsters to take the whore back to the hole.

When she was gone, he sat down at the wooden table of his cabin with a hot cup of coffee and a cigaret and got ready to enjoy the last five minutes before going on shore.

--

When the cell phone he carried vibrated in Tony's pocket, he started, surprised. Then he remembered who it must be and fumbled for the phone. He pushed the green button but didn't say anything until he was about twenty yards further into the woods. Then he leaned against a thick tree and finally put the phone to his ear.

"Yeah." he said quietly.

"Tony, it's Seb. I'm ready." He was lying hidden close to the breakwater, propped up on his elbows, with a good view of both the water and the land. "Are you on the move yet?"

"No, not yet. I'm expecting action in the next few minutes. We'll move when they do."

"Roger that..." Seb replied, easily falling back into the old days' military speak and informed his brother, "I found the ship," He trained the night vision binoculars on the ship again. It looked like a Handysize vessel, a dry bulk carrier, just small enough to enter all kinds of ports, and large enough to carry a variety of cargo types: steel, grain, metal, logs, cement... And people.

"At least I _think _it's the ship," Seb added. "It's sailing without a flag from what I can see. Anchored about two hundred yards from the shore, idling. Hardly any illumination, like they're trying to remain invisible. Looks like the right size for this kind of transport, too. Can't read her name from here. Not sure she even has one."

Tony nodded. "Any activity yet?"

"No, none so far. But I'll keep watching."

"All right, thanks," Tony said.

Seb raised the binoculars to his eyes again and shifted his gaze to the coast. He was still alone. "Look, I want you to know, I'm co-ordinating with the Coast Guard."

By the silence on Tony's end, Seb knew what Tony was thinking, and thus added, "Don't worry, Tony, they know what's at stake."

_Do they really? _Tony thought.

"An old friend of mine's in charge of this unit. He'll do exactly as I asked him." Tony still hadn't replied, so Seb explained his reasoning. "They had to know what's about to go down so that they don't interfere when a firefight breaks out."

_Yeah, he's right_, Tony mused. "What are their _exact orders_?" he then questioned, while stealing a glance at Michelle.

"Stand down until all hostages are safe."

Tony nodded in thought. "All right. Make sure they fully understand that."

"They do. They'll wait for our signal."

Tony glanced at Jack and sighed. There was one more thing at stake. "Seb, _no one _can know that Jack's involved. Alright? He was never here."

"They won't hear it from me," Seb agreed. "Any sign of Michelle?"

Tony sighed. "Yeah, I can see her... She's alive..."

Sebastián sighed, too, lowering the NV gear. "We'll rescue her, Tony. I'm givin' ya my word."

A pained look crossed Tony's face. "Don't make any promises you can't keep, big brother."

"I'm not," Seb said confidently. "We will."

_I wish I could share his confidence_, Tony thought, but only whispered, "I gotta go. See ya in a bit."

--

Domingo set the empty coffee mug aside and dug out his cell phone. He caught Sanchez just a foot or two away from the door of the compound. Sanchez halted and picked up the phone first.

"Domingo."

"Yes, Colonel."

"Situation report?"

"I can see the coast. It's looking good. We're ready."

"Bien. Keep your eyes on that beach, and let me know if anything out of the ordinary happens. I don't want any surprises."

"Yes, Colonel."

"We're leaving now. Get the boats ready to go on shore in ten minutes."

"We'll be there."

Sanchez hung up and reached for his radio. "Get her ready."

Then he waited.

A minute later, two of his men walked past him and then outside. One was tall and had an athletic build, the other was short and chubby, but could lift a 200 pound man and toss him out of a closed window if he had to. Both men wore cammies and a hat, and carried their AK-47s openly, proudly, across the chest like a medal. The chubby one was in the lead, and was lighting the ground in front of them with a strong flashlight. His buddy had his back and kept his eyes going from left to right and back again the whole time.

Sanchez gave his men a few seconds, then followed them out but himself remained standing in the door, scanning the yard with a pair of mil-spec night vision binoculars.

There was Michelle, there were his men - but nothing else.

"Dond'estáis, bastardo?" he wondered aloud, almost unable - or unwilling - to believe that Almeida had simply given up on a rescue attempt. He didn't strike him as the kind of guy who'd just run for his life and abandon his wife. _Maybe I was wrong_, he thought for a second, but his gut told him otherwise.

He lowered the binoculars a few inches and looked over the fence, towards the woods. Something didn't feel right. If he had any men to spare and any time to waste, he'd have them combing the woods yard by yard... He'd always known that all that vegetation was a two-edged sword. It provided good protection for the compound from curious glances of any passers-by, but unfortunately, it also provided a good potential hiding zone for any enemies. He brought his hands up to his eyes again and widened his search, training the NV gear on the bushes behind the fence.

"Where in the hell are you hiding?"

--

When the door of the compound opened, Jack, Marco and Tony split up, and each took a step or two back, finding a cover. Marco flattened himself against a tree some five feet away, while Tony crouched behind some thick bushes seven feet in front of Jack. Jack himself dropped to one knee, hiding most of his body behind the remains of a broken tree trunk, but keeping his head, arms and the Heckler&Koch rifle on the side and aimed in the general direction of Sanchez.

The air in Tony's lungs seemed to freeze and then boil when he saw the two men exit the building and then Sanchez standing in the door like the king of the world. The chubby and the tall guy walked right into the glaringly white light, as if to make sure that any enemies by the compound clearly saw that they were armed and what with. His heartbeat quickening, Tony took his Beretta into both hands, ready to blow their heads off.

Sanchez calmly stood in the doorframe for a few seconds, and then brought what seemed to be night vision gear to his eyes. Seeing this, Marco kneeled down and tried to stay as close to the ground as possible. Jack pulled his body back behind the trunk. Tony stayed put.

Slowly, Sanchez shifted his head to his nine o'clock, and then, inch by inch, brought it to his twelve, where he paused. Tony stared back at him with hatred in his eyes, gripping the Beretta even harder, as if asking it to hold him back by some magical powers. If he hadn't handed over the sniping rifle to Jack earlier, he could put a bullet right through an eyepiece and end this thing right now. But even with only the handgun, he was tempted to try.

Jack felt like Sanchez was staring them down, too. He didn't like it. He also didn't like what he knew was going through Tony's mind. And he prayed that Tony would be able to keep himself in check. Moving over to hold Tony back would be way too risky now that Sanchez was looking straight at them. Doing the only thing that he could, Jack carefully raised the rifle a few inches, set the crosshairs on Sanchez's forehead and held his breath.

The few seconds seemed like an eternity, but eventually, the trafficker swayed the binoculars towards his three. Letting out the breath he'd been holding, Jack quietly slung the H&K over his shoulder, took the Glock into his left hand and went down on his elbows. Then he started to crawl towards Tony, inch by inch, taking great care to maintain stealth.

In the meantime, Sanchez's men had made it to Michelle's position. The shorter of the two came up to her from behind and turned off the water hose. Then he grabbed her arms, causing her to whimper. The tall one then came from the front and lifted her chin, putting her bruised face into the spotlight for a few seconds. She wasn't bleeding - the cool water had shrunk the capillaries so that any cuts had closed, and it had washed off the blood that had been there earlier, but the bruises were now clearly showing.

Now it was Tony who wasn't breathing, but he wasn't aware of it. He noticed the men's voluptuous glare and felt a cramp in his groin while his brain began to scream in panic. What had they done to her? He knew his Michelle, she'd never give up without a fight - but she had been alone among vultures for hours...

He tried to find her stare and tell her he was there, but he knew that she couldn't see him. He did, however, see something in her eyes that stabbed him worse than any knife could have: a void. An empty, resigned, pained look. _I never should have left her alone, _he mentally kicked himself. _Jack would have come for us._ And as the tall guy let go of Michelle's chin, Tony felt an overwhelming urge to cry. He swallowed it down, knowing that losing focus right now could be deadly to all of them...

--

Domingo had gone on deck and was supervising the preparation of the rafts. At the same time, he kept an eye on the beach. There was still no sign of his boss, but he wasn't worried - yet. If the Colonel said he'd be there, you could bet your ass that he would.

He wanted a cigaret, but resisted the urge. His men worked in almost complete darkness, and if he lit up, a faint glimmer might be visible from the shore or another boat, and he wasn't willing to draw the attention of any onlookers. Besides, enjoying a smoke might distract him from his task. He'd done this so often that it felt like routine. But routine was a dangerous thing. If you took things too lightly, you might miss something - something crucial that was different this time around, something that might prove to be a potentially fatal mistake.

Domingo wasn't fond of fatal mistakes. He went over the plan one more time. The women were ready, but still below deck. He would wait to bring them on deck until the last possible minute. He would then divide them into two groups of seven and one of six, shove them into the rafts, with three of his men per boat, and have the boats lowered into the black water. He himself would get into the fourth boat with one other man, leaving just one man back on the ship. The women wouldn't give him any trouble. They were tied up, scared and if they went overboard, they'd drown. No one would come for them.

He wouldn't even waste a bullet on them.

--

When Tony finally remembered to breathe again, Sanchez's men had already unchained Michelle and her body had collapsed into the arms of the tall man in front of her. Then the guy flipped her over his shoulder and started to carry her away. Satisfied with his men's work, Sanchez hung his binoculars around his neck and brought a radio to his mouth.

That's when Tony gave in to himself. He stood and stepped aside, hiding only partially behind a tree, and at the same time lifted his pistol, a few inches at first, then higher and higher, trembling more and more with the desire to squeeze the trigger.

Then he felt a hand grab at him. Jack had stepped in line with him and firmly gripped the barrel of Tony's firearm with his whole right palm, holding the slide so as to prevent the weapon from firing and was pushing the weapon down. He looked at Tony and shook his head.

Numbly, Tony watched the two men carry Michelle away, and as the distance between them and him grew, the almost cramp-like feeling in his fingers gradually dissipated. When Sanchez stepped inside the compound, Tony relaxed his grip on the Beretta and allowed Jack to disarm him.

While Jack kept his eyes trained on the door of the building, and his ears alert, waiting for the signs that the transport was about to begin, Tony took two steps back and leaned on a tree, slid to the ground, pulled up his knees and started to quietly weep into the crook of his arm.

Right then, Sanchez walked out into the yard again, and this time, was followed by the rest of his men. He headed towards the gate, but then stopped, letting the man walk past him.

Marco took a couple of steps closer to the fence just as the sound of motor vehicles coming from behind the building tore the silence.

Marco glanced at all sides, then stated the obvious: "It's starting."

Jack nodded and turned back around, giving the two-finger signal to move. "Go."

Tony remained on the ground. He'd seen Jack and Marco move but couldn't will his body to stand. He secretly wiped off the few tears he'd allowed himself to shed, in an effort to hide them from Jack. He didn't need Jack's judgemental attitude right now.

Jack had already advanced a couple of yards with Marco when he realized that Tony wasn't coming. He spun, only now noticing Tony's position on the ground. _Goddamn it_, he swore inwardly while walking back to Tony,_ don't fall apart on me now_.

Tony saw Jack coming, and took a deep breath, then looked up with the eyes of a a kicked and beaten dog.

Jack knew what Tony was going through. He wanted to say something to him for comfort but this wasn't the time. There wasn't any time. Not now.

He grabbed Tony's left arm, physically heaving him up. He shoved the Beretta back into Tony's right hand, as a sign that it was time to get back into action, and broke the field rule of no talking, trying to convince Tony to get moving. "Come on," he said in a whisper, "We have to get to the jeep before Sanchez finds it. If we don't, it's over."

Tony had only taken four steps away from the fence when Sanchez's voice boomed from behind him,

"ALMEIDAAAA!!!"

Shivers ran down Tony's spine as he heard the voice. Wasting no time, he yanked his arm free of Jack and spun towards the compound.

"Almeida!" Sanchez yelled again. "I know you're out there somewhere! Come out now or she's dead!"


	20. Operation Doran Beach

Hello everyone & welcome to a new chapter of Blowback :o).

Hope you enjoy and drop me a review.

* * *

Following the source of the voice, Tony quickly localized Sanchez in the middle of the yard, surrounded by half a dozen armed men, who kept their weapons trained at the surrounding woods. And lying on the ground, by Sanchez's feet, was Michelle - unmoving, unconscious or worse.

_God, no_... Tony thought and whispered, "No."

It took Tony two or three seconds to convince himself that she must still be alive. Sanchez was standing over her with a rifle aimed at her head, and if she'd already been killed, there would have been no point in that. There was still a chance...

"Almeida!" Sanchez yelled into the night.

Tony still stood petrified, only his eyes moving from Sanchez to Michelle and back to the madman again. After everything he'd seen, there was no doubt in Tony's mind that Sanchez was willing to kill Michelle as revenge for his escape, especially if Sanchez's ego was bigger than his thirst for money.

"Come out, Almeida! On the count of three! Or I WILL kill her!"

_Snap out of it! _Tony ordered himself and made up his mind. He had no time to think. There was a chance that Sanchez was bluffing, but Tony wasn't willing to wait and find out. He felt Jack's presence right at his six, and heard Marco approach from his eight. He knew what they were about to do, and he couldn't let them. Jack and Marco simultaneously reached out to grab Tony, but as they did, Tony stepped away from them and spun back around, raising his armed hand and leveled the Beretta 92 at Jack's nose.

Marco reflexively took a step back. Jack remained rooted to the spot, staring Tony in the eye. Squinting ever so slightly, he tried to tell him wordlessly, _Damn it, Tony, don't blow everything to hell_.

"ONE!" Sanchez yelled.

Unflinching, Tony stared Jack down, moving his index finger to the trigger.

Marco looked at Jack for a signal, for guidance as to what to do. Jack, eyes still on Tony, shook his head in disapproval, but then backed up and extended his left arm towards Marco, signaling him to do the same. While stepping back, he carefully secured and pushed his own handgun into his waistband, let go of it, and slowly raised his empty hands as high up as his shoulders.

"TWO!"

Keeping his weapon firmly aimed at Jack, Tony took a step back, toward the fence. _You know I have to do this, Jack. You'd do the same thing. _

"Alright, I'm coming out!" Tony yelled, then, to Jack, voicelessly formed the words, "Protect Seb."

He wanted to take off the Kevlar vest he was wearing so that Jack could give it to Seb, but there was not a second to waste. Still watching Jack closely, Tony took a few steps in reverse, set the cell phone and the Beretta down on the ground, then finally turned away, and took the last couple of steps out of hiding unarmed.

As soon as Tony came out on the other side of the bushes, Jack dropped his arms back down, cursing inwardly. He picked up Tony's gun and phone, then pointed two fingers ahead, signaling to Marco to start moving. Tony had just revealed their location to Sanchez, and they couldn't stay here any longer.

As Jack and Marco advanced, Jack kept cursing to himself. With Tony recaptured, their odds had just dropped by 25%. But he soon reminded himself that getting upset was futile - he'd have to get things done, one way or another. In a true Bauer fashion, Jack packed the frustration into a hardtop box, slammed the lid shut, and filed the box on the highest shelf in the archives of his mind. With it gone, he was able to focus on the mission again.

The woods weren't too thick, and the night was quiet. While moving forward as quietly as possible, Jack looked for a new position from which he'd be able to keep an eye on Tony, at the same time trying to listen to whatever was happening on the other side of the fence.

--

As soon as Tony came out into the open, he threw his hands up in the air, open palms towards Sanchez and his group and yelled. "I'm here!"

Then he halted and waited for the searchlight to find him.

When Sanchez spotted Tony, he gave a self-satisfied smirk. He swayed his Heckler & Koch MP-5 9mm sub-machine gun in Tony's direction, and signaled for one of his goons to take Michelle at gunpoint instead.

Tony stared at Sanchez, but all of his training couldn't prevent his heart from starting to race like a speedboat right now. It could all be over in a split second for both him and Michelle... The sides of Tony's neck pulsated so hard that the throbbing spilled over to his head, wrapping his thoughts in some kind of cotton wool and stuffing his ears with some invisible wax. _Slow down the heart rate, _Tony ordered himself. He had to think clearly, anything else was too damn dangerous. He took a few deep breaths, trying to resharpen his senses. He glanced at Michelle. She still hadn't moved. He then focused on the weapon in Sanchez's hands for a moment, trying to force himself to recognize it. It looked like an MP-5 but he couldn't be sure.

Seconds later, Sanchez's weapon pointed towards the gate, and Tony saw Sanchez's mouth form the words "Keep moving!"

Still unable to hear anything but his own heart, Tony slowly bent his arms, interlocking his fingers at the back of his head and walked, quietly, into what he knew could be certain death.

--

Jack had set himself up on top of a hill, concealed between trees, at a spot that allowed him a good view of the yard. He'd sent Marco back to the jeep, with instructions to get it as close as possible to the road without getting detected and be ready to drive West.

Now Jack was waiting, lying on the humid forest ground, propped up on his elbows. His finger rested on the trigger of the Heckler & Koch 417, mounted on its bipod, her sights trained on Sanchez. Killing him would be easy, but that wouldn't be the end of it. Sanchez had too many men close by. It'd be impossible for Jack to take out all of them before either one put slugs into Tony or Michelle. And if their leader was dead, they wouldn't hesitate to shoot. Jack sent a silent Dammit on its way, knowing an attack was out of the question. If he wanted to chance a rescue attempt, he needed the bastards caught off guard with nowhere to run. And this wasn't the time or place.

--

Having reached the fence, Tony turned ninety degrees to the North and began to walk alongside it, moving steadily towards the gate, his every step followed by the spotlight and Sanchez's weapon. The throbbing in his head had subsided, his heartbeat normalized, and Tony felt in control of himself again.

Sanchez barked a command in Spanish. Three men split from the group and ran to meet Tony. They caught him at the gate, where Tony's left cheek instantly met with a hard fist. Numbed from the blow, Tony didn't resist as his arms were secured behind his back with rope. Then the third man shoved the muzzle of his AK47 against Tony's spine.

Tony followed along, crossing back into the fenced cage he'd worked so hard to escape from. And for a moment there, it occurred to him that he had no plan whatsoever. He'd acted on impulse, not exactly knowing what he was doing, just knowing that he _had _to. Someone shoved him from behind, and told him to move faster. Tony obeyed and tried to shut his thoughts out. He didn't want to think. No distractions.

Tony was now close enough to Sanchez that the white glare of the floodlight united the two of them and Michelle in its ellipse. Tony stole a glance at Michelle, noting with relief that she was breathing, then submissively raised his eyes at Sanchez for a moment, before dropping his stare again.

Sanchez was standing with the muzzle of his firearm stubbornly pointing at Tony, the firearm that Tony now recognized as the Heckler & Koch MP-5. It was illegal in the hands of a civilian, but that's not what made him nervous. What did, was how good the weapon was. He'd used it himself countless times - a dependable 9mm pistol-caliber sub-machine gun, 15 rounds in the mag, one in the chamber - light, versatile and _extremely _accurate. Sanchez didn't need to be an expert marksman to hit a target up to 100 meters away.

As soon as Tony was within reach, Sanchez swung the MP-5 around and drove its butt full force into Tony's stomach. Tony had tried to brace for the blow, but after everything he'd been through, his body finally rebelled. His legs gave. He dropped to his knees while an unstoppable wave of nausea overcame him. Sanchez raised the weapon in the air and brought it down on Tony's back and arms, once, twice, three times.

Whenever the weapon connected with his muscles and bones, the pain intensified Tony's nausea. His stomach felt like a volcano was about to erupt, and after the third blow, it finally did. Tony could no longer control the urge and vomited bile into the grass.

While Tony coughed and spit, trying to get rid of the yucky stomach acid that burned in his throat and stank in his mouth, Sanchez and the men around him began to laugh at him.

Jack watched, his finger itching to squeeze the trigger. _No... Not unless he's about to kill them_, he reminded himself.

Sanchez stepped behind Tony, rested his shoe on Tony's ass and pushed him flat to the ground. Tony only managed by an inch to avoid dropping his face into the vomit. His nose still fell close enough to smell it.

"Bienvenido, Almeida," Sanchez said through a grin. "Guess I'll get my money's worth after all."

Tony remained silent. Feeling another attack of nausea announcing itself, Tony fought with himself not to puke again. He managed to swallow down the bile that was creeping up his throat again, but his arms twitched with ongoing pain every few seconds and he couldn't make it stop. For good measure, Sanchez suddenly buried his boot in Tony's side. Tony groaned in pain, allowing his eyes to close while he tried to breathe. _Son of a bitch... _

Sanchez checked his watch and, frowning, ordered, "Put 'em in the truck. We're late."

Tony opened his eyes and glanced at Michelle, glad that she wasn't awake yet. Faceless men grabbed him and her and began to drag and carry them away, toward the vehicles that had gathered outside the gate.

Jack decided it was safe to go and find Marco. He folded the weapon's bipod and came up on his feet, trying to make as little noise as possible. He'd just turned away when Sanchez ordered his men to stop, grabbed Michelle's left arm and put a bullet right through it, sending blood spraying all over Tony's face.

Jack flinched at the shot, twisting his neck around to see what the hell just happened.

Sanchez was standing behind Michelle with a .38 Glock semi-automatic pistol in his right hand. Michelle, yanked out of unconsciousness, began to scream in pain.

Tony yelled, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!", trying to break free from the thugs that were holding him back.

Sanchez smacked him over the head with the Glock, shutting him up.

"That should remind you not to screw with me again, you damned idiot," Sanchez told Tony callously.

"You son of a bitch! I'll kill ya!" Tony shouted again. "Ya hear me? I'll kill ya!"

Sanchez grabbed Michelle's arm and yanked it up for Tony to see, causing her to scream again. Tony tried to inspect the blood flow - the wound was bleeding steadily but not in squirts, meaning that the brachial artery hadn't been hit.

"It's a through," Sanchez told him. "She'll live. For now."

He then let go of Michelle's arm, stuck the pistol back into the hip holster and walked away, towards his ride and out of Jack's view.

"There's a doctor on the ship," he lied, looking at Tony again. "Don't cause me any delays and he'll save her."

Sanchez had left Jack's sight faster than Jack could pull himself out of the momentary paralysis. Cursing, he blinked away the shock and gave himself a push. He began his retreat with two reverse steps, then turned away from the scene and began to move as fast as he could without being too audible.

He kept the sniper rifle in front of him at a 45 degree angle and his eyes awake, but inside he was still unable to completely let go. He cursed under his breath again, angry at himself. He hadn't anticipated Sanchez's move. He'd underestimated Sanchez's thirst for revenge and what he was capable of.

But now he knew. And he made a mental note that Sanchez was not to survive the Doran Beach operation. Having him arrested just wouldn't do.

When the humming of Sanchez's engines intensified, announcing they were leaving the compound, Jack slung the rifle over his right shoulder and exchanged it for the Glock. With it in his right hand, just in case, he darted across the woods to find Marco, the sounds of his footsteps getting drowned in the roar of the engines.

--

Sanchez climbed into the black Hummer that was waiting for him, ready to go. Before pulling the door shut, he snapped his fingers as a sign to his crew. The chubby guy from before picked a crying Michelle up from the ground, causing another scream to escape her. Nonchalantly, he tossed her inside an unmarked black Chevy van with no plates. It took three men and as many blows to hold down a screaming and kicking Tony and throw him into the back of a long GMC cargo truck. They pushed his legs inside and slammed the doors shut. While he wrestled with himself to sit up, they bolted the doors from the outside.

When Tony managed to stagger up to his feet, he was still hearing voices outside the idling truck. Turning slightly sidewards, he backed up and then ran forward, slamming his body into the unyielding steel doors. Having failed once, he tried again, agonized by the thought of being separated from Michelle, not even for the short duration of the 3 mile drive.

Seconds later, the driver slammed the vehicle into gear and the wheels started turning. As the truck rolled away from the compound, Tony realized that he had to focus his energy on getting himself back into a fighting position. Doran Beach would be an all-out war, and he couldn't allow himself to still be a prisoner when shit hit the fan.

He took a calming breath and swallowed down all of the sour liquid he could gather in his mouth, trying to get rid of the taste of vomit.

"Focus, Almeida", he told himself quietly. "Focus."

He moved to the side of the truck, then leaned against it. Judging by the bumpy ride, they were still on the dirt road that led out of the woods. Each change of gear rocked the vehicle back and forth for a moment, making it sort of difficult for Tony to find and keep his balance in the total darkness of the cargo compartment. But when he finally did, he stuck two fingers into the back pocket of his pants and fumbled for the knife he'd taken from the garage he and Jack had been at earlier. His gamble had paid off - Sanchez hadn't frisked him. Tony pushed the button on the knife, the switchblade dutifully popped up, and Tony set to work on the ropes around his wrists.

--

The road must have been unpaved; the ride was unsteady, with bumps and dips poking at Michelle's bruises and injuries a hundred times per minute. The physical pain in every inch of her body had been real for so many hours that even the newest injury didn't seem to worsen things so much more; if anything, she thought, it might eventually put her out of her misery...

By the time Sanchez's goons had dropped her onto the floor of the van, her screams had turned into desperate sobs, and the blissfulness of unconsciousness had been replaced by the agony of reality. Fear was crushing her as if a brick wall had crumbled all over her. Tears had been flowing down her cheeks ever since she'd seen Tony back there. It was really happening. Tony had been recaptured. They were being taken to the ship, only minutes away from a life apart, a life of slavery and humiliation.

It was pointless. She couldn't live that way.

Suddenly, the van jerked to an almost complete stop, causing her body to roll over her left arm for a second before rolling her onto her back again. She yelled out in pain as her weight came to rest on the bleeding gun shot wound. Then as the van pulled away again, she tried to free the arm from underneath her so that it wouldn't happen again.

A small roof light was shining into her eyes from above her. She turned her head away to avoid having to stare at it and looked to her side instead. She was lying in a pool of water and blood that grew slightly larger by the second. Her eyes stared at the dark liquid snake, which was slowly wiggling its way towards the back doors of the van. She felt wetness underneath her, but her mind seemed too exhausted to process the input. She felt cold, tired. Little by little, the snake started to get blurry, the light from above began to fade. Michelle squeezed her eyes shut.

A tall road bump sent her body up a couple of inches and then back down. Her head reconnected with the floor with a thud. Her eyelids flew open, causing her to once more remember where she was headed. The back wheels crossed the bump, too, and the van then began to roll steadier and faster, probably having found a tarmac road; _the road leading to the port_.

_It's all lost_, she thought. Sanchez had won.

Michelle's eyes closed again. Or maybe they were still open, she wasn't exactly sure. The fingers of her right hand began to clench autonomously, as if trying to scrape the metal floor underneath her. They worked their way through the mixture of blood and water both ways. The hand came out empty as it opened again, empty but smudged, as if it had tried to grab a spoon of jelly and squished it in the palm.

Michelle wasn't aware of her hand's movements. In her head, voices grew loud, memories started flashing like lightning on a dark, stormy night. She suddenly heard Tony's screams, over and over again. Sanchez fired his gun. She heard herself scream. Sanchez laughed. The chains around her wrists dug into her skin. Sanchez put a knife to her chest and cut her skin. Tony yelled for Sanchez to stop. Someone electrocuted her, her body jerked in the air. She screamed. "Tony's dead! He's not coming for you!" Sanchez threatened. One of his goons held up Tony's bloody jacket as proof. "Tell me who helped him!" She stayed quiet. Sanchez backhanded her face, drawing blood from her lip. A woman said, "Tony's not dead, he escaped..." Sanchez whacked her again. "I'll cut you down and let each of my men have you right here, right now. And the same with every man on the boat and every man you meet all the way down to Perù..." More electroshocks. She was crying. Her wrists felt numb. She couldn't take it any more. "Marco... Whistle..."

"Wake up... "

Sanchez cut her down. Two men came and took her...

"Wake up..." Tony's voice whispered to her from somewhere really close by. "'Chelle, wake up, please." She forced her eyes open, hoping to see him, but he wasn't there. Nothing was there except the black walls of the van, the fading light above her and the pain.

Cold shivers took possession of her body for a few seconds while she tried to get rid of the disturbing images in her head. Little by little, her eyes came to focus on her left arm. The wound was still bleeding. Her gaze widened, following the creek of water and blood on the floor... And suddenly she realized how dangerously lightheaded she felt.

" 'Chelle... Live," Tony whispered to her.

At first she didn't understand why he'd say that. With what lay ahead, she didn't want to. But then he said it again, and her thoughts began to clear, drowning out the background noise in her head, and she suddenly realized how selfish it would be not to live to say goodbye... The least she owed Tony was to survive the transport to the harbor.

_Wound... Stop the bleeding... _she told herself. Or it might have been Tony.

She led her eyes down and then up her body, and noticed that neither her arms nor legs were restrained. Sanchez's men obviously hadn't bothered, considering the state she was in.

_Pressure... _

She looked at the remains of her clothes that were still hanging from her body. They were nothing more than rags, stained, wet and torn, but that was all she'd need. Gathering all her strength, Michelle forced herself to tear off a piece of the blouse without screaming at the pain of exerting her aching muscles.

In slow-motion, she wrapped the improvised bandage around her arm and one-handedly formed a simple knot. Then she stuck one end of the rag between her teeth and held the other with her right hand. She took a few seconds to take a few deep breaths, brace herself and grit her teeth. Finally, she drew her head back and pulled her right hand down at the same time, groaning in pain. Fabric still in the mouth, she passed out.

--

Domingo had checked in with the Colonel one last time, then given the go ahead for the cargo to be brought up on deck. While his crew went about their tasks, Domingo took up position in the middle of the ship, stance wide, left hand resting on his thigh holster, right arm hanging loosely by his side. In his right hand, he held the smooth leather end of a bullwhip, a handy tool when absolute control was needed without the noise of a firearm. The 9mm in his hip holster was only the last resort. Despite the silencer mounted on it, he would have preferred to avoid firing it on occasions like these. Too many unknown variables could come into play if so much as a single gunshot shattered the nightly silence of a quiet neighborhood.

The hatch finally opened, and out came the first two men, followed by the first of the women. Domingo looked her straight in the eye as her head hesitantly peered over the opening, and commanded for her to fucking move already. She gingerly walked up the stairs to the deck. She must have had beautiful, smooth black hair back home, and pretty features to match. But her hair looked exasperated now, sweaty and dirty. A piece of cloth, the same cream color as the torn pieces of her thigh-long t-shirt that still hung on her shoulders, served as a gag in her mouth, and her hands were zip-tied behind her back. Her left cheek wore a two inch wide cut that would doubtlessly scar, and her almost black eyes gave away just how terrified she was as she stepped, barefoot, into the cool ocean breeze.

She remained standing on the top step for just a second - a second too long for Domingo. He swung the whip in the air and sent it down on a flat trajectory, wrapping it around her bare legs as he struck her. She cried out but the gag in her mouth prevented her from being heard further than the immediate surroundings of the ship. Her legs denied her service and she fell to her knees, crying. Domingo brought the sole of his boot down on her left shoulder and kicked her down and away from the hatch.

"Get her out of my sight."

Two of his men grabbed her and carried her towards one of the Zodiac boats. Domingo looked down the hatch, holding the folded whip in both his hands for the rest of the women to see. "Get your useless asses up here this instant or the next time, it'll be the face."

--

Jack would have preferred to arrive at Doran beach before Sanchez and his entourage, but that wasn't an option. From the air reconnaissance report that Seb had given him over the phone, it had become clear that there would be nowhere to hide the jeep once they were close enough to continue on foot and not be exposed. That left Jack and Marco with only one choice: wait for Sanchez's vehicles to pass, then follow them from a comfortable distance. The good part about that approach was that Sanchez wouldn't be able to deviate from the plan or the location without Jack noticing.

Marco had hidden the jeep behind the last tree line by the road and waited for Jack. When the gunshot resounded from the compound, Marco considered running back to help. But he'd been told to stay put, and from what little he'd learned about Jack, Jack was a field man - and with field guys, it was better to follow orders. So Marco waited and increased his vigilance.

But when he finally saw Jack running towards the vehicle, he couldn't help but voice his thoughts from a far. "What happened? I heard a shot."

"Get on the ground and stay down," was Jack's reply, another order that Marco followed.

They both hid behind the jeep and then, while waiting for Sanchez's autocade to pass by, Jack gave Marco a short recount of the last few minutes.

"I didn't have a chance," he added to his explanation, his eyes burning with anger. "The bastard took me by surprise."

"Is Michelle alive?"

"Yeah," Jack grunted and dug the cell phone that Tony had left behind from a back pocket of his pants. _Hopefully she still will be when we get there_.

--

Seb had just pressed the redial button when the phone in his hand began to blink, informing him of a new call, and interrupted the dialing process. It was all the same, he was calling the same number. He put the phone to his ear and picked up in the usual Almeida manner.

"Yeah."

"Hey, it's Jack."

"Jack. I was just about to call. Where's Tony?"

Jack decided to delay giving him the answer to that question before he got the information and gave a vague "He's on his way" reply, which he then complemented with a question, "What's going on?"

"I've got action on the ship." Seb spoke as quietly as he could, even though his surroundings still suggested that he was alone. But you never knew. "They started working on lowering rescue boats into the water a couple of minutes ago."

"How many?"

"Three or four."

"Which is it? Three or four?" Jack pressed. He hated acting in the field based on incomplete information, though most of the time, it couldn't be helped.

"Three so far. But it does look like they're prepping the fourth one too. I'll know for sure before you get here."

"Good." Jack glanced to his two o'clock. The engine noise was getting closer, and now headlights began to flicker through the trees. "Seb, hold on a sec," Jack instructed him and muted the phone.

Behind the closest curve, a jeep - just like the one he and Marco had nicked - came first, carrying four men, then a black van with tinted windows and solid walls, which didn't allow Jack to make a headcount. There could be one to three men in the front, and up to a dozen cramped in the back of the van - an unlikely scenario in his opinion, but not to be written off from the get-go. He'd only know for sure once those doors opened.

The van was followed by a mid-sized cargo truck with two men in the cabin. Jack guessed the cargo area would be empty at this time - that's where they'd load the women at the pickup site. And finally, a window-tinted black Hummer with space for six. Jack guessed this was Sanchez's ride. One or two of the other vehicles were transporting his friends.

When the backlights of the Hummer disappeared, Jack was tempted to immediately jump into the jeep and start the pursuit, but held himself back. He had to make sure that no other car lagged behind. He did, however, while continuing to watch the road, unmute and put the phone back to his ear, finding a slightly impatient Seb wanting some answers.

"What's going on over there, Jack? Is Tony with you?"

Jack worked his jaw before replying. "No, he's not. Things got a little complicated. Sanchez grabbed him again and shot and wounded Michelle." He only took a short breath before adding, "I don't have time to get into the details now. I do believe that both of them are alive, but we have to move fast."

Satisfied by the quiet on the road from the compound, Jack made the decision. He stood, giving Marco a sign to move and switched the phone from his left hand to his right. He let Marco behind the wheel, and himself sat next to him. Marco drove off, while Jack continued talking on the phone, his head turned towards Marco, thus making sure that both his team members would hear his words.

"Listen, both of you. We're going to be heavily outnumbered out there. Sanchez has four vehicles with a minimum of 15 hostiles and my guess is that at least 10 are on the ship.. We have 20 female hostages plus Michelle and Tony and it's three of us, or with luck - four. There is _no _room for mistakes if we're gonna survive this, and I _mean _it."

He paused to let the numbers penetrate the minds of his fellow combatants. Civilian combatants whose combat status he didn't know nor had any way of assessing before they all actually got into battle. He knew he could trust them to at least not end up putting a bullet in the wrong person and for now, that would have to do. Now was the time to take command and let them in on the tactical side of things. Not knowing what state Tony would be in once they reached Doran Beach made planning complicated, so Jack had decided to leave Tony out of the tactical considerations for now. When it all went down, if Tony was in the shape to fight, he would, to the last breath; that much Jack knew for certain.

"Sebastián," Jack then started again, adopting a commanding voice that would not tolerate interruptions. "You are our eyes and ears out there. I want to know how many men are getting on those boats. Text me when you have a number."

"Roger that."

"When Sanchez arrives, try to get a headcount on his land crew, too, and get it to me. We're a couple of minutes behind."

"You'll have it," Seb promised, and added, "Did you get my specs?" Earlier, after his reconnaissance run of the area, he'd sent a text to the phone, suggesting a good entry spot for Jack, Tony and Marco.

"Yeah, we did. I'll also need your exact current position and I need you to stay there unless you're discovered and have to move, in which case you are to inform me. I have to be sure where the three of us are at any given time so that we don't shoot at each other. We're short on ammunition, so ID your targets well and don't waste any rounds. Also, no more phone calls after Sanchez and his crew arrive. It's too risky. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Get me the numbers as soon as you have them so I can come up with a plan."

"You got it."

Jack nodded to himself. To him, planning and dissecting a mission had become second nature. He didn't like having to do it with sketchy intel, but in the field, sketchy was sometimes the best you got. From that, you put together a rough game plan, and refined things as you went. You were trained to think quickly and independently, to see what others overlooked, to adapt your tactics to the situation at hand, and even, to adapt to your enemy. And adapting sometimes meant getting as ugly and as down and dirty as the enemies themselves.

With Sanchez, Jack planned to get very ugly.

There were many things he still wanted to check on and make sure of, but he decided that he would just have to rely on his impromptu team to handle things right. There was still one concern, however, that he wanted to voice.

"I don't think I have to say this but I'll say it anyway," he began. He'd more often than not gotten innocents through dangerous situations alive. But he'd also lost some along the way. And tonight couldn't be one of those nights. "My _priority _are Michelle and Tony, and the two of you. I don't want to lose the women from the ship, either, but if faced with a choice, I won't hesitate to make it. I _expect _you to do the same," Jack underlined, knowing that he'd make the choice _for _them if needed.

He'd led too many missions to count in the past, some with civilians as improvised allies. And the basic field wisdom for dummies came down to a simple rule, which he shared with his current protégées: "Keep your eyes open and don't try to play the hero."

He summed up the situation for them once more. "Remember, we are heavily outnumbered but we have a chance. If Tony can join us in the fight, great. If not, it's up to us to make sure we all get out of this alive. Our only advantage is the element of surprise. Let's not screw that up."

A few seconds of solemn silence took over on both ends of the line, then Sebastián announced, "The boats just hit the water, Jack. I'll get back to you with the numbers." Then, the line went dead.

--

From the middle seat in the middle row of the Hummer, César Sanchez kept his eyes on the inside mirror and the road ahead at the same time. His white suit was sitting on the seat next to him. He'd changed quickly for the occasion, putting on a black leather jacket over his white shirt, and a pair of black uniform pants, the kind with half a dozen pockets and a water-repellant teflon coating and secured a leather holster to the belt. He wasn't too fond of the look; he was more a man of shirts and suits, so he always waited until the last possible moment to change into his version of field clothes. He would never wear a full uniform. Uniforms made everyone look the same, and Sanchez was not like everyone else. But he made himself wear these black things when doing this kind of nightly business out of a pure instinct of self-preservation - if anything went wrong, blending in with the night would not work very well with white clothes.

Every few seconds, he'd glance to the left or the right, making sure that nothing he saw was out of the ordinary. He could still blow off the exchange until the last second. This wasn't his favorite spot, but it'd do for tonight, and then he'd move on. Sanchez was a man of contingencies. And that meant that he rarely used the same location more than twice in a row. After tonight, he'd let this location cool off and use another spot the next time. But there seemed to be no reason for worry; the area seemed deserted enough.

There were a few small houses and a couple of trailer parks, but at this time of the night, people were probably innocently asleep in their warm beds, clueless as to what was about to go down. And even if some were still awake, the chances of anyone interfering were slim to none. Sanchez wouldn't hesitate to cut their lives short if needed, men, women, children, but it rarely came to that. Typically, people didn't exactly stick their necks out to help others.

The street lamps along the road were dead at this time of the night, and almost complete darkness was one thing that Sanchez looked for in his locations. He didn't exactly see the point of exposing his nightly business to any curious eyes. The other thing was enough open land to be able to keep an eye on things at all times.

This long stretch of land consisted of little more than rocks and sand. A few trees and bushes were scattered along the way but at the tip of it, where they were headed, there wasn't much - a few wooden tables, a two storey tourist building and lots of open parking space. He knew that the building was closed after working hours but would have his men check it out anyway, as soon as they arrived.

His eyes came to rest on the backlights of the truck that was transporting Almeida to the pickup. He grinned to himself for a moment, satisfied that he'd be able to sell him to the coalmine in Perú after all. But he also knew that Almeida wouldn't give in without a fight. He planned on personally teaching him a lesson when that happened.

The Hummer slowed down and came to an idling stop. Sanchez knew what that meant without looking: they were at the small yellow boom that served as a gate to keep visitors away from the beach at night. As he waited for the car to start rolling again, Sanchez reached over to the window regulator on his left and lowered the glass half way down. Bringing the NV binoculars to his eyes, he looked to the South-East, across the beach and to the ocean. It didn't take him long to spot the ship in the dark waters. The Zodiacs were on their way, too. The boats had proved to be a good investment. They were sturdy, durable, and yet inflatable, so they didn't take up much space when not needed. And unlike normal rubber life rafts, the Zodiacs had real engines, which allowed for maneuverability and speed.

Satisfied, he rolled the window back up, and hung the NV gear around his neck. Just to be on the safe side, he removed his .38 Glock from his hip holster, released the magazine and checked that it was full, then re-inserted it. Then he slightly pulled the slide back and looked inside the barrel - the extra round was where it should be. He let the slide glide back into position and holstered the handgun. He performed the same check with the Heckler&Koch MP-5, once again admiring the weapon. Another good investment. German quality. He'd left the heavy Soviet RPD at the compound and exchanged it for the lightweight sub-machine gun. Though only a 9mm pistol caliber and thus of limited penetration, the MP-5 had many advantages. Midway between a machine gun and a pistol, it offered agility, versatility and lightweight, so it was easier to handle in the field than a heavy rifle, and - as a true German product - it was extremely accurate.

He liked his RPD, but taking it into the field right now had not been an option. He wasn't the weak kind, but trying to operate a machine gun in standing and with an injured knee wouldn't have come out too well tonight. In all honesty, he should still have been walking with the crutches, if at all. But he couldn't allow himself to sit around tonight. That Michelle bitch had almost compromised his authority. But he'd taught her a good lesson. And now that he had new bitches coming, he needed to be able to stand and walk without aid, and to this end, he'd given himself a good shot of morphine. If he didn't think of the knee, he could handle it. And then in the morning, he could see a doctor.

When the Hummer came to a stop, Sanchez took one more look outside and then reached for the door handle.

--

Jack had just finished once again checking the weapons and pushed his Glock into the holster he'd found in the jeep and now called his own, when the cell phone that sat in a holder on the dashboard blinked. Jack reached out from the back seat, grabbed the phone and opened the text message that had just arrived. It was from Sebastián.

_Sanchez is here_, it said, and went on, but before Jack continued to read, he told Marco to slow down. "We can't drive any further. We can't have them hearing us," he added.

The jeep eased to about 10mph and Jack intently looked ahead. Then he saw the sharp curve, some 200 yards further down the road. There were two large Dumpsters on the left side, and some bushes on the right. It was perfect, just like Seb had suggested. "Just short of that curve, take a 90 degree turn and stop the car between those Dumpsters and the bushes. Make sure you block as much of the road as possible. We're continuing on foot."

"You got it," Marco confirmed, and Jack went back to reading the text message.

_Count 13 on the ground. Boats still in water. Hurry._

Jack pushed the REPLY button and typed quickly, _Stand by. Do nothing before we get there. We're at the mark. _SEND.

He pushed the phone into a back pocket and grabbed Marco's SIGSauer P229 from the black sports bag that served as their weapons bag. As Marco brought the jeep to a stop according to Jack's instructions, Jack took the weapon by the barrel and handed it to Marco. Marco accepted his weapon by the grip with a quick thanks. Tony had returned the SIG to Marco when they met up again, and Marco was glad. He was very comfortable handling the P229, and preferred going into battle with a gun that felt like a natural extension of his arm. Keeping the muzzle pointed at the empty passenger seat, he expertly removed, checked and reinserted the full magazine, pulled the slide back to chamber a round and checked for the bullet in the barrel. Finally, he secured and holstered the gun.

Jack liked what he saw. Marco seemed to know what he was doing. When Marco was done, Jack handed him one of the AK-47s and spare magazines for both weapons. Pistols were great at short distances, but the operation they were trying to pull off required that they take out as many targets as possible _before _they got within the 25 meter effective range of a pistol. Marco stuffed the mags into the pockets of his jacket and zipped them up halfway, then quickly performed a security check on the rifle, too. Satisfied, he jumped over the closed driver's door and out of the jeep.

Jack zipped the bag back up and grabbed the Heckler & Koch 417. It was time to move. He jumped over the back door, also avoiding making a sound by opening and closing doors. He grabbed the weapons bag and lifted it out of the vehicle, then slung it over the left side of his head and his right shoulder. With the sniper rifle at a 45 degree angle, he began to lead the way toward the exchange point. He first took several cautious steps and listened. The soft ground swallowed most of the sound his shoes made. He then accelerated into a light jog. Marco followed close behind.

They were still waiting on the definite enemy headcount from the boats. Too many heads per vessel hadn't allowed Sebastián to discern whether they belonged to a man or a woman in the darkness, not even with the NV binoculars. The boats had remained at a safe distance until Sanchez arrived with his crew, staying close to the main ship, so that they could return in case of trouble. However, Seb did get a rough estimate of about 30 persons total, so if the information that Tony had gotten out of Salvador was correct, that meant 20 hostages and around 10 potential shooters to deal with, in addition to the 13 on the ground.

While approaching the beach, Jack's mind worked furiously to come up with a tactical approach that might allow them to save the hostages and get out of there alive. He was deaf to the swooshing sound of the waves hitting the beach and the crickets chirping on the ground, but his senses were sharpened, his ears listening for something else.

The roar of Sanchez's engines had died away, but after about 100 yards, Jack started to discern the noise of boat engines at sea. He felt time ticking away. He and Marco were still some 400 yards out. The distance wasn't a problem for Jack's sniper rifle, but that wouldn't work for this op. If they started a firefight at this distance, there was a very real possibility of Sanchez just killing Tony, Michelle and Seb before Jack and Marco were close enough to do much about it. They had to get closer before engaging.

_Don't do anything stupid, Seb..._

--

Sebastián lay flat on the ground about a foot behind the rocks he'd chosen as a cover and watched the boats approach the shore. To avoid both tunnel vision and surprises, he set the night vision binoculars aside every few seconds, and looked at the group that this man, Sanchez, had brought with him. He still hadn't caught a glimpse of Tony or Michelle, so he knew they had to still be inside a vehicle.

The jeep that had been at the front of the short autocade swerved off the road and stopped right at the beach, its headlights directed at the ocean. It had brought four men to the site. Two were now posted in the sand, standing there like guards, obstructing Seb's view of the approaching boats. The other two, a chubby one, and a skinny, tall one, jumped out of the jeep and took a right, running straight towards Seb's position.


	21. Takin 'em out

Hello everyone,

With 24 coming to an end, all we have to hang on to is our own imagination... Enjoy the first half of the last chapter of Blowback. I couldn't post 20 pages all at once ;)

As always, please R&R. Thanks.

* * *

The moon hid behind the clouds again and the night at the shore was getting cool. The wind had picked up somewhat. Behind Sebastian, waves crashed against the rocks, occasionally spraying saltwater in his direction.. But the water didn't worry him. The two gyus running towards him did. His execution committee, if they stumbled upon him. And stumble upon him they could, if no one stopped them.

Sebastián pulled his head even lower, trying to stay as concealed as he could without becoming completely blind to the situation unfolding in front of him. His heart stepped on an invisible accelerator and pumped faster by the second. With his finger on the trigger of his H&K USP semi-automatic pistol, Seb held his breath, trying to decide his next move, to figure out if he'd somehow alerted Sanchez to his presence. Had they seen him land earlier?

Seb wavered, tossing thoughts back and forth. He didn't think they knew... But he couldn't be sure. He had two options: shoot or stay quiet. If he started shooting, he'd possibly serve himself on a silver platter. If he waited, and they came too close, he just might still be able to surprise them and take them out quietly.

But if they'd seen him, wouldn't they have opened fire by now? From afar? There was no need for them to expose themselves like they were doing.

This last thought seemed to make sense. They couldn't know, Seb decided. His tension started to dissipate, and just then, as if to confirm his guess, the men abandoned their straight path. Moving to Seb's right, and away from him, they began to pick their way between the camping tables.

Curious, Seb mentally drew their moving direction as a straight line, and followed it with his eyes until it collided with something: the two-storey tourist building by the beach. Seb nodded to himself. He took his finger off the trigger and rested it on the solid metal of the barrel. Relieved, he let out a long, silent breath. The Latinos circled the building once, checked that the doors were locked and then radioed their findings to someone. Then they took up position at the front door, standing guard fifteen yards away from him.

Seb trained the weapon's sights on the back of the chubby guy's head and smirked. He'd identified his first target.

--

Domingo lifted his night vision binoculars to his eyes yet again, and this time, fixed his gaze on Sanchez. The Colonel returned the stare through his own NV gear, and a few moments later, put out his right hand, signaling to Domingo to get moving. The tall Venezuelan relayed the order to his underlings on the boats.

Within thirty seconds, the idling engines grew louder and the Zodiacs began to approach the shore in synchrony. Tails of white foam formed on the black surface of the ocean as the eager rotors sliced the water.

Domingo's boat trailed behind the other three, like a shepherd dog watching a herd. As the man in charge, he stood up, holding on to the black metal frame behind with one hand, while his Zodiac picked up speed, bouncing off the ocean beneath. He couldn't wait to get on shore. And it wasn't just the payoff.

There was something else he looked forward to: a new toy. An American whore that he wanted so badly to get his hands on. A wild one. Tough, an ex-Fed, trained to fight, to resist. She'd be different from these pitiful Latinas that just let things happen and cried their eyes out. He'd have his fun breaking her spirit. He'd already begun to devise a strategy. He'd take his time with her and break her eventually. He never failed.

He scanned the beach and let his gaze wander from one vehicle to the next, wondering which one contained Michelle.

--

From behind an old, battered boat left to rust in the sand, Marco Whistle glanced at the Zodiacs as they surfed the waves. His Kalashnikov lay steadily in his hands, aimed at his predetermined targets on the shore. He was still waiting for the signal to engage, and as the seconds ticked away, his thoughts leaped back to Danielle.

Had she listened to him? Had she made it home safely? Were her kids safe?.. He knew beyond doubt that a wandering mind was a distraction in his current situation, but he couldn't help it. There was a very real chance that he'd never see them again. And all of a sudden, he asked himself how he'd feel _knowing _that.

While his gaze slowly returned to his target, he started to dig for answers inside himself.

--

As per his instructions, Niño, a 47-year old illegal immigrant from Mexico, drove the van carrying Michelle into a parking spot by the side of the road and cut the engine. Then he dismounted the vehicle with a jump. Erected, Niño was only half the van's height, and the Kalashnikov that was dangling loosely in his left hand looked a little overstated. He glanced to the left and right, and then with short, quick steps, went around the back. At the doors, he stopped. His task was to wait and get the girl when told to do so. He lit a cigarette while waiting and leaned one shoulder against the back doors.

Niño's partner, Augosto, had opted to remain in the van. His weapon was lying between the seats while he sat in the passenger seat, ransacking the glove compartment for something to eat. Once again he cursed his wife for putting him on a diet. So he _didn't _look like Schwarzenegger - who cared? As long as he brought money home, he could wear his stomach any way he wanted to. His left hand finally got hold of a small packet and he eagerly withdrew it. Hope became disappointment the moment he realized it was only a box of V6 spearmint chewing gum.

Overcoming the initial frustration, he mumbled, "Better than nothing," to himself and popped two. He tossed the box on the dashboard, and with an annoyed look, leaned back, crossing his arms at his chest. The sooner this was over, the better. He needed to make a pit-stop at a fast food joint, pronto.

Niño took a long drag from the cigarette, watching the boats closly come into view. Never one to give people comfort, he banged a small but strong fist against the van's doors twice.

"Wake up, pretty, your ship has landed!" he said loud enough for Michelle to hear. Then, with a chuckle, he leaned against the van again and proceeded to watch the preparations on shore.

The cargo truck had made a U-turn and was just growling to a stop at the end of the road. Its occupants, Rich and Jon, watched the area from their elevated position. They were young, maybe in their late twenties, blonde, and American, taking what they considered to be a transient detour into fast money before going back to school.

Sanchez's heavy Hummer was already parked crossways in the middle of the road, blocking it. The driver, Ekko, remained in his seat, ready to step on it at a moment's notice. Two of Sanchez's most faithful men had been riding in the Hummer with him. Sanchez waited for them to exit the vehicle first, then he himself took position by the left back door.

--

Marco let the events of the past couple of days pass before his eyes. Kreuk, Sanchez, the things they'd done, everything _he'd _done _for _them... It made him sick. Tony's pain at leaving Michelle behind, Michelle's blood-chilling screams while Sanchez tortured her, and the fact that he'd done so little to stop it ripped at Marco's conscience, at his heart, his soul. Even worse, eventually, he'd abandoned Michelle despite his promise to Tony to help keep her alive. When it came down to it, he'd chosen to run, and knowing that felt like shit.

It didn't help that he'd run with Danielle, that _she_ - and not his own welfare's - had been the focus of his escape. Guilt was a bitch. She'd sunk her teeth firmly into his brain and wouldn't let go. _Maybe I should have tried more_, he told himself. _Maybe I should have tried to get them both out. Even if it meant I wouldn't make it. We might not be here right now if I had, _he mused.

Another voice in his head added, _and maybe if you'd blown the whistle on Kreuk's operations months ago, none of this would have happened at all. He'd be in jail, and Maggie and Jeannine would still have a father. You'd have Danielle and Tony, Jack and Michelle wouldn't have been drawn into this._

Suddenly he felt gutted about his own behavior. He'd made so many mistakes along the way he couldn't count them. He blinked away the sweat that was trickling down into his eyes, and brought his gaze into focus again. He loved Danielle, and he'd grown to love her daughters as his own, but after everything, there was only one way to make things right... The rescue had to succeed, and Marco swore to himself to do whatever it took to make it happen.

--

Sanchez had taken a minute to take in the situation, then decided it was showtime. "Raul, Tomas, get Almeida from the truck."

His trusted two nodded. Kalashnikovs at the ready, they jogged over to the cargo truck. Having reached the cabin, they separated. Tomas took the left, Raul the right. Sanchez eyed them carefully right up until they disappeared behind the cargo compartment.

Tomas immediately started working on the doors. Honoring his efforts, the aluminum plates soon screeched and clanked open. He pushed them open all the way, while Raul pointed his rifle roughly to the middle of the unlit compartment for safety.

The moonlight didn't make it far inside, and they couldn't see Tony anywhere. Tomas gave Raul a confused glance, then pulled a flashlight and brought its beam bottom-up, from left to right and to the left again. A couple of wooden boxes were secured to the floor the front end of the compartment, but otherwise, the truck looked empty.

Raul doubted that Tony could have escaped during transport with Sanchez driving right behind the truck. Not wanting to play stupid, he glanced at Tomas again before calling out,

"Get out from behind those boxes, Almeida, I know you're there!"

He waited. Nothing happened.

As the flashlight danced around the dark cargo compartment, Tony crouched a little lower, feeling his heartbeat quicken. Unawares, he rotated the switchblade combat knife in his hand 360 degrees several times. The plywood boxes in front of him were an okay concealment, but - unless they were filled with steel (which he doubted) - they weren't going to stop any bullets. He didn't think anyone would shoot, though. The risk of killing him would be too high and he'd be worth nothing to Sanchez dead.

"Almeida!" the same voice called out again. Tony ignored it.

"Come on," an annoyed Raul said to Tomas and both of them climbed inside.

Tony tensed, like a cat ready to attack its prey. He took in the vibrations of the floor that coursed through him, watched for shadows and anything else that could help him better judge the distance between him and Sanchez's people. The bodies cast no shadows, as the truck was too dark, but through the open cargo doors, Tony could now see the moon peep between the clouds. The steps came closer and suddenly, the zenith of someone's head cut off the bottom section of the white crescent. One additional step brought Raul within Tony's range.

Tony explosively jumped out from behind the box, leading with the knife. He firmly grabbed Raul's hair to secure his head, then jabbed the combat knife into the right side of Raul's throat. Slashing from right to left, he cut the neck arteries and the trachea apart in a split second. He hugged Raul for another second or so, using him as a shield while preparing to move in on Tomas. Tomas had followed Raul too close to be at a safe distance - and luckily for Tony - way too short a distance to handle and fire the Kalashnikov rifle.

Tony extracted the knife out from the dead man's throat and discarded the body. Launching himself into the other man, he grabbed the AK-47 and yanked it up with his left hand. At the same time, he leveled his right with Tomas's lungs and knifed him deeply between the ribs. Blood gushed from the wound as he withdrew the blade and re-inserted it a couple of inches to the left, going for the heart. Two shots burst from the Kalashnikov, drilling holes into the truck's roof. Holding on to the rifle and the switchblade, Tony shoved the dying man into a wall, and annexed both rifles. It was time to run.

--

When Sanchez heard Raul call out after Tony, he knew in his gut that it was a trick. He was about to order him and Tomas not to go inside but to grab Michelle instead and force Tony to come out. But before he could, he heard the dull thud and the two shots and knew that it was too late.

Slightly alarmed but not weary of life, Sanchez stayed where he was. From his position, he still had a view of the truck and could shoot without standing in the line of fire. Instead of checking things out himself, he ordered the two men who were waiting by the jeep to do it.

They instantly obeyed, but didn't get far. Just a couple of yards away from the jeep, they dropped dead to the ground in quick succession. Almost simultaneously, two more shots took out the two men guarding the tourist building.

--

When he'd first taken up position behind a warped and weathered RV that lay on its side, Jack had set the crosshairs of his HK-417 sniper rifle on Sanchez's forehead, itching to squeeze off a round or two. It would have been such an easy shot: aim, fire and kill. But after careful consideration, he'd decided against it.

Strategically, taking out the boss from the get-go wasn't the best decision. As long as the situation wasn't under control yet, the cat still had to be around, or the mice would start acting unpredictably. Besides, Michelle was still out there somewhere, and Jack had no idea if she was staring down the barrel of a gun at this very moment.

So instead, he'd come up with a different plan, assigning initial targets to everyone on his team. Working under the assumption that Michelle and Tony were either in the van or in the truck, Jack had forbidden direct shots at the vehicles at the onset, but once the occupants stepped out into the open, they were fair game.

Prepped and ready, Jack, Seb and Marco had lain in wait for a signal. Tony's shots became that signal. Following Tony's move, Jack took his first shot. Seb and Marco took theirs after hearing Jack's, thus coordinately carrying out their attack. Before his people had the time to react Sanchez had already lost six men.

Never underestimate the element of surprise.

--

Michelle had been drifting in and out of consciousness for a few minutes before Niño banged at the doors She could hardly make out his words - they seemed to be coming from somewhere far away. But the shots that started ripping the night just a minute later scared her into a state of instant panic. She thought she'd screamed but wasn't sure if she'd made a sound. The gunfire was too loud.

The inside of the van was almost dark, but all of a sudden, she thought she was seeing flashes from the shots. They were blinding, the explosions deafening. And then her mind catapulted her back in time - she was no longer in the van but under the 6th Street bridge, in L.A., reliving the exchange of Jane Saunders all those years ago... A mayhem that could have ended tragically. Both her and Tony were between the fronts, guns blazing around them, Saunders shouting for his daughter to come back to him... Tony was still 20ft away, and all Michelle wanted was to get to him, to hold him, for both of them to stay alive together. Tony reached out for her, she ran and they crouched behind a wheel of Tony's SUV with shots whistling past their ears...

_Tony_...

She thought she was seeing him now too, reaching for her from behind the van's seats. Wanting to reach back, she extended her good arm and began pulling herself forward...

--

With one Kalashnikov slung over the right side of his head and under his left arm, and the other in his hands, Tony carefully glanced out of the cargo compartment in search of something to hide behind. There were a couple of Dumpsters at his eleven o'clock, Sanchez's vehicles spread out across the perimeter, a small building, forty yards away at his ten, and a few wooden tables, benches and trash cans in between.

It wasn't much, but he had no other choice. If he stayed in the truck, he'd die. Tony carefully jumped out and crouched low, and then shots erupted around him. At first, he thought that he was the target, but then Sanchez's men started to drop like flies. Knowing they'd be too busy for a while trying to stay alive rather than looking for him, Tony took the chance and ran.

The adrenaline high helped him forget his injuries, the cuts, scrapes, bruises, broken ribs... His legs carried him across the uneven terrain with a determined willingness to stay alive. He made it to the Dumpsters and crouched, folding his upper body as low as it would go, so as to minimize his exposure.

He wanted to chance a look from behind his concealment, to see if Michelle was anywhere out there, but stopped himself. He reasoned that Jack wouldn't have started a firefight with her in the middle of it, and hoped he was right... He also wanted to find out where Seb was. Recalling the specifics of his brother's venture point, he looked in that direction. Just then, two shots were fired from there, and by the white star-shaped flashes from the pistol, Tony localized Seb, some twenty yards away.

_He's too close_, Tony realized with dread. Too close to be at a safe distance from Sanchez and his trigger-happy, rifle-armed people. They could just as easily localize Seb as Tony himself had done. And after that... Tony didn't end the thought. He needed to get to Seb and at least arm him with the second Kalashnikov.

--

The very first shots had frightened Niño into dropping his heavyset body to the ground behind the van, covering his head with his arms. His weight hit hard on his knees, but he managed to stay quiet. It was safer that way. Suddenly wanting real bad to survive, he attempted to crawl under the vehicle for protection. He only managed to slide his head and shoulders in, though, before noticing that he'd get fatally stuck if he went any further. Cursing, he slithered back out, coming up on his knees and then his feet. Leaning against the van, he started to mull over his options. His hand fished for the keys in his pants pocket. Not seeing any alternatives, he decided to try and make it back inside the van. Clutching the keys firmly in his fist, he broke out from his cover, and, after taking a deep breath, started to run alongside the vehicle.

Jack noted the movement and trained his sights on the man, but didn't fire. No need to waste bullets. The van was Marco's turf. And indeed, a second later, he heard Marco's AK-47 send off two rounds on its way. A moment later, Niño slumped into the sand.

_Nine down_, Jack silently counted in his head and reacquired his own target.

Panic-stricken, Augosto, the second man in the van, climbed over to the driver's seat and frantically started looking for the keys - in the ignition, on the dashboard, on the floor - and then saw them glittering in the hand of a dead Niño out in the sand.

"Damn it..." he cursed and decided to make a run for it instead. Sliding over to the other side of the van again, he grabbed the Kalashnikov with one hand, and opened the door with the other.

Marco still had him the sights of his AK-47. It wasn't exactly a sniper rifle, but it was good enough. His lips thinned into a small grin while he watched the rotund man panic.

Augosto jumped out into the sand and started to run. How could he have known that he would have been safe inside the van as long as Michelle was in there?

Marco followed him with the rifle for a second or two, making sure that he had the not always accurate Kalashnikov aimed right. Then he squeezed the trigger and fired two. The rounds shattered Augosto's shoulder and shoulder blade. He screamed in pain, spinning around like a snooker ball hit from the side and stopped running. He grabbed his injured arm in shock, a pained expression drawn on his face. Then he staggered backwards.

"Alright, then," Marco whispered under his breath, and sent off a third round. This one hit Augosto's chest and finished him off.

_Ten_, Jack counted.

Jack's Heckler & Koch 417 was aimed at the cabin of the cargo truck, where the two blond American youngsters were still sitting. Jack had noted the name plates behind the windshield identified them as Jon and Richard. The young criminals made no attempt to leave, yet were throwing their heads to all sides in a staccato, trying to figure out where the shots were coming from. They swept their AK's to all sides like a protective shield, but Jack doubted they'd dare draw attention to themselves by actually shooting. Considering what Sanchez was about to do to former Federal Agents, Jack couldn't help but see the two as traitors. And now that Tony was no longer in the truck, they were doomed. Jack looked forward to the next couple of shots.

Calmly, he trained the rifle between Jon's eyes and breathed in. Feeling the soft pressure of his finger on the trigger, he started to exhale, slowly, evenly. Then he squeezed the trigger. The rifle spat once. A split second later, Jon's head jerked back, slamming against the headrest with a fresh big hole right above the teeth. The bullet exited through the cerebellum, instantly shutting off his motor abilities and killing him.

Now genuinely horrified, Richard screamed and reflexively started to wipe his buddy's blood and brain matter from his face. Jack swayed the weapon five degrees to his left, bringing its crosshairs to rest on that frightened little piece of shit. He watched the kid grab the door handle and raise the muzzle of the Kalashnikov against the windshield, getting ready to start spraying bullets to cover his exit.

Jack wasn't about to let that happen. With the cool of a lethal professional, he took aim and sent a bullet away without hesitation. It entered at Richard's right temple and drilled through both halves of his brain, short-circuiting it.

_Twelve. Jack amended the bodycount. _

--

Tony had stayed behind the Dumpster for a few seconds, considering his options. Seb fired two shots again, and someone returned fire. As bullets ricocheted from the rocks, Tony made the call. As more shots cracked the night, Tony shouted his brother's name.

Sebastián's head peeked slightly to the right of the rocks. He squeezed off two rounds, taking out one of Sanchez's men and then disappearing from view again. A second later he looked in Tony's direction from the left of his cover, and Tony saw him.

"Sebastiàn!" Tony shouted, louder this time, trusting that the firefight will keep Sanchez's men too busy to listen.

"Tony?"

"Seb, I'm coming over!"

"I'll cover you!" came the reply from Seb. "Go! Go!"

Tony quickly glanced to both sides, and then sprinted as fast as he could to the nearest wooden table, keeping his head low between his shoulders.

--

When his men started to go down, Sanchez's will to live kicked in. Ducking, he felt his way around the Hummer and took cover behind the engine compartment. He lowered himself to the ground, with the injured leg stretched, and his back leaned against the front wheel.

His driver, Ekko, sat down next to him just while more shots coughed from somewhere pretty far to the North. Sanchez peeked under the chassis of the engine compartment. At the beach, the first boat was about to hit the sand. At that second, the remainder of the jeep's crew was cut down. This wasn't good. Almeida had help.

_Marco, it has to be Marco_, it shot through Sanchez's head. _Damn him_.

He grabbed his radio and commanded, "Get the freight back to the ship! Repeat, get back to the ship!"

Domingo didn't answer the call. Why waste time talking? He didn't need anyone telling him what to do under fire, not even Sanchez.

"Garcia, Fuentes, Martinez," he yelled at the three men steering the Zodiacs, and gave his orders in Spanish, "Turn around and flock behind the ship! Watch the freight! The rest of you - with me! Go, go, now!"

With that, he jumped into the shallow water, and his men followed.

The shore was just a few feet away. Knowing that each second's delay could cost them their lives, the men waded as fast as they could across the soft, sandy ground. Domingo surrounded himself with his men, using them as live shields. Those in the front row were aimlessly shooting their weapons for cover, while the Zodiacs cut U-turns and swooshed past them in the opposite direction.

--

Jack peeled his eye off the weapon's sights and looked straight ahead, then shifted his gaze to the left and right. This simple shift of focus reawakened his other senses. He smelled the gunpowder that hung in the air, mixed with the salty ocean breeze. He heard shouts and screams, both from the shore and the sea, and the angry sound of boat engines.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure running at the South end of the parking lot. He used the weapon's sights to get a better look, while taking his finger off the trigger as a precaution. His instincts were right: it was Tony.

"Marco! Tony at two o'clock! He's trying to get to Seb's position! Don't shoot!"

"Understood, Jack!"

"I'll keep Sanchez pinned down, you keep the beach boys busy!"

"You got it!"

With that, Jack grabbed the Kalashnikov and started pouring bullets against the Hummer. He wasn't going to give Sanchez a chance to shoot at Tony. Marco kept firing into the water close by, weighing the risk of hitting the women on the Zodiacs against the disadvantage of allowing the group to scatter. The sand danced as the rounds peppered the beach. A couple of men went down. Marco emptied his magazine and reached for another.

"Reloading!" he shouted at Jack.

Jack instantly turned to his nine o'clock and fired short bursts at the group approaching through the water while Marco released the spent mag and inserted a fresh one into the AK-47. Marco was ready within four seconds, and then Jack resumed his own task again.

He checked Tony's position. He was between tables, approaching his brother from the North-West. Seb fired single shots every second or so, giving Tony cover fire. So far, no one seemed to have spotted Tony, but there was always a chance of a stray bullet hitting where it shouldn't.

Jack kept firing at the Hummer. With dismay, he realized that the bullets seemed to be doing no damage to the vehicle. They hadn't shattered any glass yet, and the metal seemed to be immune to the rounds, too. Jack cursed to himself.

"Sanchez is in an armored vehicle!" he announced to Marco.

He reduced his firing rate to just a couple of rounds per second. He still needed to disturb Sanchez so he wouldn't get a shot at Tony, but he couldn't waste more bullets on an armored car than was absolutely necessary.

Sanchez was pissed at the gunfire directed at his favorite Hummer. He wished whoever this was would realize it was futile and stop. The car was slightly shaking with the shower of bullets, but letting none of them through. Sanchez wanted to fire back, but getting out from behind his bullet-proof cover would expose him to those unfriendly rounds, so he waited.

He was fuming, though. Not only had he been ambushed and losing men by the second, but he stood to lose a lot of money and his freedom if cops got wind of this shooting and consequently, of his activities. This was supposed to be a very profitable deal. And now these bastards had him pinned down. He had to do something about it before he lost everything that mattered. He glanced at his driver, who was sitting still, leaned against the back wheel of the car.

"Ekko!" Sanchez called over, cradling his MP-5 at his chest.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Get behind the wheel! Start the engine!"

"Now?"

"Don't ask questions! Do it!"

With that, Sanchez came up on his good knee, ignoring the pain in the injured one. Setting the MP-5 on top of the engine compartment, he started firing rounds in the direction of the broken van that Jack was using for cover.

Jack leaned his back against the chassis, the AK-47 against his chest. While waiting for the shots to stop, he reloaded. The engine compartment behind him served well as a bullet-stopper. When Sanchez's gunfire paused, Jack peeled himself off the chassis, pushed the Kalashnikov past the vehicle's front, and fired back blindly.

"Marco, I've been made!" he shouted, drawing the weapon back. "We'll have to change position soon or we're stuck!"

"Roger that, Jack. The beach boys just hit the shore! I couldn't get everyone!"

"Keep shooting the Hummer!" Jack ordered Marco and grabbed the sniper rifle again.

Right shoulder pressed against the van, Jack glanced at the ocean. The group had begun to fan out. The boats were out of his range, the women at a safe distance. Jack carefully aimed and fired the last three rounds from the Heckler & Koch, taking out two more men. Then he tossed the weapon to the ground.

At that moment, Tony reached his brother's position and dropped down, lying flat on the ground beside him. He was breathing like a sprinter following a race, his heart was drumming in his neck, and sweat had washed his body, both from the running and the adrenaline. But he'd made it. So far.

With Tony by his side, Seb instinctively placed an arm over his brother's head, as if trying to protect him. "You alright, Kiddo?"

"I won't be alright until this is over and Michelle is safe," Tony replied tensely. "You?"

"Peachy."

More shots ricocheted off the rock in front of them, and both men pressed their heads against the ground. When the shooting paused, Tony reached for the strap of the second AK-47 and pulled it over his head, then handed the weapon to Seb.

"Here. Better range."

"Thanks." Seb took the Kalashnikov and positioned it on the ground, ready to fire.

From behind the rock, Tony glanced at the van that Michelle had been shoved into back at the compound, then hid again.

"So, what's Jack's plan?"

--

Bullets had started flying against the boat Marco had had been using for cover, drilling both entry and exit holes in it. The distance between him and the beach boys was no longer acceptable.

"They found me, Jack!" he yelled with urgency in his voice. "I'm coming over!"

"Copy that! I'll cover you!" Jack yelled back, switching his aim to the group on the beach. "Go!"

When the shooting began to focus on Domingo's men, Sanchez crawled back into the Hummer and took position in the left seat of the middle row. He opened the door just a crack, enough to push the muzzle of his MP-5 through it, and held the door as close to the vehicle's body as possible with the other hand.

Ekko started to drive while Sanchez took to spraying bullets in Jack's direction. And then he spied a dark silhouette running towards the broken van that gunfire had been coming from, while shots were still erupting from behind the turned vehicle.

"Almeida must have more help than just Marco," he stated with conviction, realizing that Almeida couldn't possibly have been behind that van at this point. There were at least two more men on his side.

Right then, shots rang out from the South, battering the Hummer's rear end. Sanchez instinctively ducked, but then remembered that he was inside an armored car. He fired again against the broken van, but then looked to the South, trying to find out where the other gunman was. That one would be Tony, he was sure.

"Let me see you, you son of a bitch," he mumbled, lifted the rifle above the door and fired several rounds in that general direction.

Marco made it to Jack's position, and Jack almost instantly swayed the AK-47 to his right again, where he'd last seen Sanchez. Except the Hummer was no longer there.

"Sanchez is on the move!" he shouted to Marco and fired a three-round burst at the car's windshield.

--

Domingo had reached the shore keeping his head slightly above the water, and washed up on the beach with the waves. Digging his fingers deeply into the sand, he slithered a few yards across the beach until he reached a wooden box containing life-saving equipment. He dug a narrow tunnel underneath it and slid his Ruger MP9 submachine gun through it. He'd lost several of his men, but he'd known they wouldn't all make it. His plan had worked so far: in the confusion, he'd made it to the shore alive. The others were collateral damage.

Three or four of his people were still firing from various positions along the beach, though, using what they could find for concealment, like he himself was doing. There was more than a chance they'd all get killed. Domingo kept a low profile for now, scanning the shore for enemy fire.

--

Sanchez's rounds whistled past Tony and Seb's rock. He'd missed by a couple of yards, but that was way too close. Tony knew that the rock was not big enough to protect both of them. He looked to the left and right, and spied another one that might work.

"Seb, stay here," he said, and with that, gave himself a push with his left foot and then rolled to his right like a bottle. Reaching the rock, he flattened himself against the ground behind it.

The new position gave him a better look of the surroundings. The gunfire from behind the boat had seized, but now shots from two weapons resounded from where Jack was. Tony figured that Marco was with Jack now.

He also noticed that the Hummer was moving slowly in Michelle's direction, while Sanchez kept Jack and Marco pinned. _No, no, no, no, no_... it shot through Tony's head. Whatever Sanchez was planning, he couldn't be allowed to do.

"Seb!" Tony yelled. "We have to stop that Hummer at all costs!"

"What do you want me to do?"

Tony looked down at his Kevlar vest. It wasn't going to stop heavy caliber rounds, but he at least stood a chance of surviving the 9mm ones.

--

Jack took a knife from his pocket, then, in a low crouch, moved over to the back of the vehicle, inspecting its underside as if looking for something. Marco kept firing at the flashes of light coming from the weapons on the beach. He thought he'd killed another one of them, but the harsh reality was that he was running low on ammo. Sooner or later, it'd happen and then it would be over.

"Jack, we have to get moving!" he shouted over the shots.

"I know," Jack said, and started hitting the underside of the vehicle with the tip of the knife.

Marco glanced at Jack. "What are you doing?"

"Hoping this still has some gas in it," Jack replied and at that second, broke the fuel line. A moment later, the fluid started to wiggle its way out. Jack grabbed an old beer bottle he'd found and held it at the hole he'd pierced.

"Keep shooting!" he told Marco while he waited to get enough gas into the bottle.

"Jack, I could blow us both to hell if I do."

"Keep shooting! Cause_ they will! _"

Marco inched to the other side of the vehicle, as far away from the fuel leak as possible and fired short bursts at the people on the beach.

While he did, Jack laid out his plan. "When I tell you, start running West. We have to circle around and get behind the Hummer. When we take them out, we can try and get to Michelle. Understood?"

"Understood."

Jack got the bottle filled and then grabbed a piece of his shirt that he'd torn out earlier and shoved it loosely into the bottleneck.

"Get ready! On three!" he yelled, while he dug out his lighter and held it to the cloth to set it on fire.

"One! Two!" The cloth caught fire. A split second later, Jack hurled the bottle at the Hummer. "Three!"

With the bottle flying towards the windshield, Jack and Marco started running.


	22. Pursuit and Sacrifices

hey everyone

Please excuse the **bold** font in certain paragraphs thoughout this chapter, but I've just noticed that my division lines have not appeared in the past few chapters, so I'm sure they were a little tough to read, since there was no visual separation of scenes. In order to avoid that now, I've resorted to this alternative.

I hope you like the continuation of the fic. there's still a little more to come, and then probably an epilogue.

as always, thanks for reading and thanks in advance if you review :o).

* * *

**Lying** on his belly, on the humid, sandy ground with the AK-47 clutched in his arms, Tony Almeida took a deep breath and silently counted down from three. He'd made up his mind and laid out the plan for Seb. He'd break into a run and try to draw fire while Seb attempted to make it to the van where Michelle was presumably being held. Seb had argued against the plan, wanting to swap roles, but Tony would have none of it. He'd be Sanchez's primary target, no matter where he went; Sanchez would jump at the chance to kill him as soon as he saw him, and Tony wasn't going to risk Michelle's rescue like that. One bullet that actually hit its mark would inevitably thwart the rescue attempt. With a little luck, they would never let it get that far, but the decision was made: the diversion was Tony's job.

Tony was about to jump to his feet and break into a run when a ball of fire came flying from behind the old van. Tony held himself down, surprised. What looked like a comet with a white tail smashed against the Hummer's windshield. Glass shattered, and an explosion instantly ignited a fireball on the windshield.

Tony kept his head low, and with a bit of a grin thought, _Good ol' Jack made himself a Molotov_...

He'd paused for only a moment, though, knowing that Jack's diversion could buy them all some time. As long as the Molotov was burning, Sanchez might just be too busy to notice them running. Tony sprang to his feet, and yelled to Seb: "Go! Go!"

**By the time **the fuel caught fire, Jack and Marco had put several yards between them and the broken, old van that had been their cover.

"Keep running," Jack yelled and turned around to fire a couple of rounds at the vehicle, aiming at the leaking tank. The shots sparked the remaining fuel and the tank exploded, engulfing the van in a blazing sphere of flames.

Jack spun and picked up speed to catch up with Marco, who was a good 40 feet ahead by now. He told himself to run faster, and ignored the dull pain that had begun to form below his heart, warning him to slow down.

"Move! Move!" he yelled at the younger man, though inside he knew that he was more trying to push himself.

He didn't know Marco's exact age, but guessed that he had cracked 30 not too long ago. That would put at least ten years between them. Marco would be at his prime strength-wise, and although Jack wasn't out of shape, thinking that he could still run as fast was illusory. It irked him, though. He was the physical kind of man, slowing down wasn't his style. Although he'd gotten out of field work, he wasn't about to sit around and play with model trains all day.

He tried to take as deep breaths as the running would allow and pushed himself even harder to catch up with Marco. He was getting close.

**From** the inside, the Hummer's windshield looked to Ekko like he'd just driven straight into the mouth of a volcano. Shocked by both the smash and the explosion that followed it, he slammed on the brakes, and with a scream, brought the Hummer to a sudden stop.

Ekko hated fire. It looked like it might eat through the tinted glass at any moment, and the knowledge that the Hummer was both fire- and bullet-proof did nothing to calm him down. Wanting to put as much distance between him and the flames, Ekko reached for the door handle.

"Ekko, stay here!" Sanchez yelled at him, trusting that his armored Hummer would remain immune against the Molotov cocktail.

Ekko didn't bother to look at his boss. If Sanchez wanted to weather it out inside the car, that was his right, and his call, but he himself preferred a safer place... Though safety was a relative term at this point. In Ekko's mind, though, anywhere was better than here.

In his whole life, nothing had been scarier than fires. Fires provoked the worst dread inside him ever since he'd lost his beloved cat in a domestic fire as a child. The cat, Pochito, had been in a cage when a gas pipe broke and set the whole house on fire. Ekko's family got out safely, but no one had cared to save the meowing kitten from the fire's burning throat. He was forced to listen to it die, and later smell the death stench rising from her charred cadaver. Not wanting to end like Pochito, Ekko started to work on the door handle and Inside of a couple of seconds, got the door opened.

"Ekko!" Sanchez tried to stop him again, but his call again went ignored.

Ekko climbed down and started to run. He had absolutely no desire to get trapped in the middle of another fire, no matter how far or close it was. He ignored his boss's last call too, and instead broke into a run.

He didn't get far. Sanchez lowered down the bullet-proofed window at his side just enough to shove the muzzle of the MP-5 through it. Without hesitation, he squeezed off a couple of rounds and then reached over to pull the front door shut.

With two fresh GSW's to the back, Ekko dropped, mouth gaped, into the sand.

"Damn it..." Sanchez muttered to himself while retracting the weapon. He didn't enjoy killing his own people, but this one had left him no choice. They all knew the rules, you walk out, you're history.

**Seb** had started following Tony down the coastline towards the two-story building. The soft, uneven ground underneath their feet wasn't the easiest surface to run on, but he and his brother progressed nicely. With the moon temporarily hidden behind the clouds again, the night was nearly pitch black, except for the area around the two burning vehicles and however far the fires cast their light. Since he and Seb were on the opposite side of the beach, Tony took some comfort knowing that people would have trouble localizing them with the naked eye.

Suddenly, against the fire in the background, Tony made out two hostiles running from the beach to the house. They couldn't be allowed to make it there first. He raised the AK-47 and yelled to his brother:

"Seb! Eleven o'clock! On my mark, take the left one!"

"Roger that!"

"Now!"

Between two wooden camping tables, the brothers almost instinctively dropped into a combat crouch, side by side. Inside of a single second, they took out the men with two perfect shots. Seeing no further targets, they stood again and continued to run. The building wasn't far now.

**When **the old van all but disintegrated, the scorching heat of the blast washed over Domingo like the hot breath of an angry dragon. He threw his arms over his head for protection, burying his face in the humid, cold sand. For a moment there, he believed that he'd been caught in the explosion. Moments later, he understood that he'd been lucky. It was just the pressure and heat wave.

After it had passed, Domingo realized that there would be no better time than now to find a more favorable position. He could even try to get to Sanchez. Propping himself up on his elbows at first, he cleaned the sand from his eyes and nose and glanced around. Then he pulled himself up and began to run, keeping his head as low between his shoulders as he could.

And then he saw the two pricks that had set fire to the Hummer. They were running West, toward the cargo truck. The colonel's vehicle was armored, so Domingo figured Sanchez was fine. But he wanted to get those two American asses. Deciding to do his boss a favor, he changed his course, setting after Jack and Marco. He squeezed off a few rounds but missed. It was night, he was running, and he wasn't such a crack shot, either. He decided to take care of them up close and personal.

**The** more Tony closed in on the house, the more difficult it was to keep an eye on the rest of the surroundings, since most of his field of vision was obscured by the building. At this distance, tunnel vision was almost forced upon him. He sped up, and told Seb to do the same. He didn't want to run blind any longer than absolutely necessary. The faster they got there, the better.

They planned on using the house only as a quick stopover on his way to Michelle's last known location. For all he knew, she was still in the van. It wasn't a long way from the house, and one of Sanchez's vehicles, a field jeep, was parked inbetween. Tony would get inside the house with Seb, they'd secure it, and from there, he'd get to the jeep and finally the van and hopefully Michelle.

Tony reached the house first. Two bodies were lying on the ground just outside it. Tony noticed them, but decided that they wouldn't pose a problem. One face had an exit wound the size of a tangerine where an eye would have been, and the other head was missing a good chunk of the right temple.

Tony ran past them and took the nearest wall to the left of the door, resting the Kalashnikov against his chest. Seb joined him two seconds later, and mimicked Tony's position at the door's right. He nodded to his brother, signaling he was ready to stand guard. Tony nodded back, and exhaled evenly. Then he stepped away from the wall, did a 180 and took a shot at the chain lock. It burst apart and Tony kicked the door in. As it swung open, he stepped into the door frame, leading with the weapon. Sweeping from left to right and back again, he scanned the room for enemies. It seemed empty.

Tony gave Seb a hand signal to move and waited at the door with the weapon at the ready. Seb slid past him into what seemed to be a beach bar with a ticketing hall. Tony followed on Seb's heels, sneaking into the room in reverse, watching the broken door as he went. No one else appeared.

Seb checked behind the counter and in the corners and softly said, "Clear." Having finished clearing the room, he moved past Tony and over to the staircase and added, "I'm going upstairs."

"All right."

While listening to Seb's shoes clicking lightly on the wooden steps, Tony worked his way between chairs, tables and the counter to a window in the left corner, the furthest away from the front door. Left shoulder against the wall, he looked out, taking in the scene. In order to minimize exposure, he only glanced out for a couple of seconds at a time, then fell back again. He was satisfied he could see both the Hummer and the van from his position. As he stared at the van as if trying to see through its walls, a sudden wave of dread washed over him. He hadn't heard a single sound from Michelle since this whole thing started.

_Focus, you'll see her soon enough_, he ordered himself. _But only if this works. Only if you keep a level head._

He forced himself to continue compiling a sit rep. The jeep he planned to duck behind along the way was about mid-way between him and the van. Four of Sanchez's men had come in it. Two dead bodies lie right outside the vehicle. Beside Michelle's van lay yet another male corpse. All of them looked like they'd never gotten a chance to fire their weapons. One even still had a hand in his pants pocket. Along with the two dead guys behind the house, all but one man that had come in the two vehicles were accounted for. Tony was confident that the last one had been taken care of, too, and probably lying in the dirt on the other side of the van. Jack and Marco had done a great job.

Tony heard Seb call "Clear," from upstairs, and concluded that it had been a good decision to come to the house. Normally, hiding out in the only building in an otherwise deserted area would have been a call for destruction by the opposing force, a mistake only rookies and amateurs should be allowed to make. But under these circumstances, the risk had been acceptable: the building would only be used briefly, as a starting point for the rescue op, and Sanchez's people had been all but wiped out. Thus the chances of getting surrounded and ambushed by them were practically zero.

Upstairs, Seb had picked an ocean-view window, opened it and crouched below it. Sporadically, flashing bursts of gunfire were still coming from two spots on the beach. Seb had no idea what the hell they were shooting at, since there was no one shooting at them. But it didn't matter. From his elevated position, he had no problem localizing them, and took them out easily. He scanned the beach for more targets, finding none. Then he moved on to the second part of his assignment and opened fire at the Hummer. The plan was to keep Sanchez busy and give Tony cover fire, giving him a chance to reach Michelle's van.

Taking a step to the other side of the window, Tony chanced a look in the other direction. At his nine o'clock, he saw three dark shapes running towards the big cargo truck which he'd escaped from minutes earlier. He recognized Jack's silhouette, and deduced that Marco was with him. The third man who trailed behind them didn't belong. As that guy raised a rifle and fired in Jack's direction, Tony smashed the AK's butt end into the window pane, breaking the glass, and then pushed the muzzle through the hole. He tried to set the sights at the third man but hesitated. Even with his sniping skills, he wasn't sure whether to take the shot. The target was moving and already too close to Jack and Marco to safely take him out. Though its range wasn't a problem, the Kalashnikov was too imprecise. Add in the night and the strong wind by the ocean, and you had the perfect mix for shooting a friend. Not wanting to risk it, Tony swore to himself and retracted the weapon again without firing it.

In a sweeping motion, Tony cleared the window frame of the larger glass shards and was about to step over the wall when automatic fire erupted from the Hummer and a barrage of bullets flew against the van.

Tony's eyes widened in utter shock. All he could do was scream "NOOOOOOOOOO!" over Sanchez's shots.

**Michelle** had somehow managed to crawl all the way to the front of the van. She was lying on the floor, for the most part in a state of semi-consciousness. Between the 6th Street Bridge and wherever she was now, fear and ugly memories still had a tight grip on her mind. As much as she hoped that the shots outside meant rescue, she didn't _know _it. She had no way of being certain. Where was all the gunfire coming from, where were the bullets ending up, who was dead, who alive? And the perpetual pain in her own body kept reminding her of what was waiting for her if Tony didn't make it.

And then a thunderstorm of bullets bombarded the van. As the van started to shake, Michelle screamed with horror. She tried to will her body into pulling her legs up into a fetal position, as close to her stomach as they would go, but it wouldn't listen to her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find the strength to move. She remained lying flat on the floor, hoping that the bullets that were sifting through the van would stay above her and spare her...

Sanchez had his finger parked on the trigger of his MP-5 and wasn't going to let go until he emptied the magazine. This whole mess had been about saving that worthless bitch. The least he could do was to make sure that there was nothing left for Almeida to save.

**When** Sanchez opened fire at the van, Seb jumped up. Knowing what was going through Tony's mind, he started to race down the stairs, yelling,

"Tony, stay put! I'm coming down!"

As far as Seb was concerned, the plan Tony had come up with was scraped. Sanchez's shooting up the van could have only one purpose: to draw him and Tony out into the open. Which meant that somewhere, someone might be waiting for them. He couldn't allow Tony to run into an ambush. He knew his brother all too well, though. When it came to Michelle, Tony tended to lose his head. He heard Tony scream again and jumped down the last few steps.

Having overcome the first shock, an agonized Tony had started firing back at the Hummer, hoping to at least get Sanchez to stop, even though he knew by now that the rounds wouldn't get through the armor.

Sanchez had emptied the magazine and paused to reload. In the break, Seb used the silence to yell again,

"Tony! No!"

He was already at the bottom of the stairs when he saw his kid brother climb out of the window.

"Tony! No! Stay here, you'll get yourself killed!"

_I don't care_, Tony thought, but didn't reply. If Michelle was gone...

Sanchez had reloaded but waited. He donned his night vision gear and watched the house. He smirked as he saw a dark figure jump out of a ground-level window. While the man was sprinting towards the jeep, Sanchez took his time to aim. Just before Tony would have reached the jeep, Sanchez fired.

"Tony, stay -"

Tony didn't hear the shot, but he suddenly felt sharp pain in his center chest like a grenade had hit him right on. A split second later, a second round caught him in the solar plexus, instantly knocking the air out of him. His body snapped like a twig and his legs gave. He collapsed to the ground with a quick _Sonofabitch _on his lips. He hit the sand, gasping for air, unable to breathe.

**Marco **was two steps ahead of Jack, and Jack was nearly at the cargo truck when the moon zipped open the cloudy cover, spilling its milky light over the ground below. Jack would have cursed at the timing if he hadn't been running for his life.

When Sanchez shot up the van, Jack was sure the mission had failed. The thought that Michelle might have died infuriated him. The rage mixed with fear that they'd been so close and yet might have failed to save her made him want to incinerate the Hummer along with Sanchez. And if he was that enraged, Tony would be even worse off. Jack wanted to get to him, but knew he had to take care of the man chasing him and Marco first and just hope that Sebastián would be able to control Tony until that happened.

Jack didn't glance behind himself, but he felt their pursuer. Domingo was quite possibly at their heels. Jack could hear him running. He wondered why the man still hadn't tried to shoot them.

Domingo put all he had into the pursuit. His Ruger had a 100-yard effective range, but the darkness and the running were making things much more difficult for the amateur shooter. He wasn't an expert marksman, just an average gun-nut who could very well hit a standing target, but lacked practice at shooting moving ones. He also couldn't keep the night vision scope on his eyes while running, lest he poked an eye out.

His targets were quick but he was gaining on them. He was within 50 yards by now, and when the milky moonlight clearly painted his targets, he figured that he finally stood a chance of actually taking them out. He chanced it and fired a couple of shots while running; the rounds didn't end up where he wanted them, so he stopped running and crouched. The first guy was almost behind the truck, so Domingo picked the second one as his target. The American was closer and larger, easier to hit. Domingo set the scope's crosshairs on the man's back and aimed carefully.

"Gotcha," he whispered to himself and fired.

Marco had just managed to cut behind the truck when the Ruger spat its shot. The bullet grazed Jack's left shoulder and then ricocheted off the truck's engine compartment. Instinctively, Jack threw himself down to avoid catching another bullet. He rolled over his right arm, shoulder and back, came up in a combat crouch, and immediately let loose a few rounds from the Kalashnikov, sawing them from left to right. Numbers over accuracy.

Domingo had stood and started to run again. A couple of lucky bullets from Jack's weapon hit the mark, stopping Domingo at the spot. One shattered his left knee, the other flew through his right thigh. He fell to his good knee with a short yell, then his brain registered the pain in the other leg, and ordered his body to lie down. He grabbed his injured thigh with his hands while falling and let the Ruger slip out of his hand; it ended up out of his reach. He looked at it, but decided it was too far away.

Jack pulled the trigger again but the Kalashnikov clicked empty and disobeyed. Jack had no extra mags left. Frustrated, he tossed the weapon at Domingo. The trafficker moved his head out of the way and brought his right arm up, slamming the flying rifle away. During that time, Jack went for the Glock that he'd had in the thigh holster. After deflecting the Kalashnikov, Domingo went for his own backup weapon, a .38 Smith & Wesson snub nose revolver which he carried in an ankle holster.

**Marco** had just managed to get behind the truck when he heard Jack yell out. Spinning around, he used the truck's body as a cover and inched to the edge of the cargo compartment. More shots were fired, followed by another yell, this time someone else's. Looking out, Marco saw Jack lying on the ground but couldn't see the other man from his position. He saw that Jack tried to fire his assault rifle, realized that it was empty, and sent it flying.

Marco assumed their pursuer was still alive and that he could be found roughly in that direction. He released the magazine of his own handgun, and seeing that he only had three bullets left, shoved a fresh mag in. The first mag was shoved into his pants pocket. You never knew if your life would depend on those last three rounds. He then went down on his knees and elbows, trying to get a visual of the man from underneath the truck. He saw what he thought were legs, but that was about it. The rest of the man was hidden from view behind the truck's left front wheel. Marco slithered forward as far as he could without exposing himself and then pushed himself up to his feet again. He still couldn't see the man. He cursed to himself, knowing that the only way to shoot the man would be to come out from the cover. Exposing himself like that would give the guy a chance to pull the trigger first. But he was prepared to do so, however it turned out. He owed it to Jack. A thought of Danielle crossed his mind again, but this time he pushed it away. He needed no distractions right now. He would make sure Jack survived this, no matter the cost.

**Jack's **holster was on the left side. He felt for the handgun with his left hand but pain stopped him at first. Then his survival instinct kicked in hard, forcing his arm to move despite the shoulder wound. He yelled out while trying to grab the weapon, but the arm was slower than it usually would have been.

Domingo, on the other hand, couldn't stand or walk, but his arms were uninjured. He won this one. Smirking, he aimed his revolver at Jack and ordered him not to move.

Jack froze, his hand poised over the holster, blood flowing from his shoulder and down his back.

"Throw your paws in the air!" Domingo commanded.

Marco had followed the truck's body to the cabin and was finally in a position from which he could shoot Domingo. But just as he got there, a new situation developed and it was highly unsettling. Domingo had a gun on Jack while Jack was basically unarmed.

Marco's thoughts raced as he ran through his options. There weren't many. He could either take the shot or not. If he did, the man's gun might go off in a death grip and kill Jack. If he didn't, the guy would shoot Jack deliberately. Damning the situation, Marco leaned against the truck, taking a moment to think.

In the meantime, Jack had complied with Domingo's demand. His shoulder burned as he lifted up the left arm, but Jack was not one to whine. Domingo pulled himself up into a sitting position, and from there made himself stand, despite the agonizing pain in both legs. The revolver stubbornly remained trained on Jack's center mass.

"Where's your buddy?" he bellowed. Jack didn't reply. "Come out here, you coward!"

"Marco, don't!" Jack yelled. "That's an order!"

"Shut up!" Domingo yelled. Moving the revolver minimally to the left, he fired a shot past Jack's head. He could have just shot and killed him but he wanted both of them in his sight before he shut them up for good. "Come out here, you bastard, NOW!"

"Stay back!" Jack tried again. The last thing he wanted right now was another innocent life on his conscience. "Get away!"

"Get over here! Or I'll shoot him in all the non-lethal places and leave him to bleed out!"

The weapon in Marco's hand suddenly felt heavy. He'd made a choice, one that Danielle would not approve of. But for him, it was a no-brainer.

"Alright!" he shouted back from behind the truck. "I'm comin' out!"

"No!"

"I'm coming out!" Marco repeated and took a deep breath, this time readily allowing Danielle's face to appear before his mind's eye. _I'm sorry, honey_, he told her, and despite Jack's protest, stepped out into the open. He kept his arms spread to his sides, the weapon far away from his body and aimed at nothing in particular.

"Step forward!" Domingo barked, enjoying having gained control over the situation. "Slowly."

Marco complied, taking small steps away from the truck. Domingo kept his revolver aimed at Jack. When Marco was well in his sight, Domingo commanded, "The weapon - toss it in the ocean!"

Still walking, Marco launched his Kalashnikov butt-first at the water. It landed with a shallow splash.

Domingo gave a self-assured grin. It would soon be over.

"Now come over here!"

Marco stared the armed man in the eye. As he approached Jack, he dropped his gaze for just a moment, noting that Jack's Glock was still in the thigh holster. _He could still get to the gun if I buy him some time_, he realized, returning the stare to Domingo. At that moment, he decided how to proceed.

Jack felt at his worst in situations like these - times where he felt helpless but the solution to the problem was just one step away, or in this case, one armlength away. The Glock at his thigh should have been in his hand now, and Sanchez's goon should have been dead. Instead, he and Marco were on the wrong end of a gun, and Jack was beginning to fear that Marco might try something dangerous. He tried to feel how close Marco was, attempting to figure out a way to turn the situation around without getting Marco killed.

"Come on, move!" an impatient Domingo insisted.

Marco stuck to his walking rhythm. Jack was just a few feet away, and Domingo's gun was now clearly in his view. From self-defense training, Marco remembered how to disarm a gun-holding opponent, but he was also a realist. Such an action would never be easy. It had to happen quickly, surprisingly, and be executed perfectly, before the gunman had a chance to react. Above all, you only stood a chance from a very close distance. And at least one shot could still go off. Marco was no expert and well aware of the danger that he was about to face. Yet as he passed Jack and continued to approach Domingo, he was unusually calm.

When Marco entered his field of vision, Jack looked at him. _Stop walking_, he thought. _Stay close_.

Marco was still six yards away from Domingo when the trafficker yelled, "That's far enough!"

Marco ignored him and kept walking. Turning his head, Marco looked back at Jack and whispered, "I'm sorry."

It took the phrase a second to register with Jack. By then, Marco had lunged forward into Domingo.

"No!" Jack yelled, and dropped his arms down, going for the Glock in the holster.

Marco closed the distance between him and Domingo with a leap, and reached out with his left hand, attempting to get a hold of the revolver. His sudden movement took Domingo by surprise; his finger reflexively squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet away. Before Marco could grab the gun, he heard a shot and simultaneously felt a blow, like an explosion tore into his torso. The shot stunned him for a split second but the pain had yet to come. He tried to get a hold of the cylinder to prevent the gun from firing again. His hand was sweaty and slippery, and Marco felt the cylinder turn underneath his palm. _It's over_, it shot through his head, and at that moment, a second shot followed as Domingo pumped a slug into Marco's liver. Marco closed his palm around the hot metal of the revolver and tried to move forward. He let his body grow heavy and set one foot behind Domingo's in an attempt to trip the gunman.

With two gun shot wounds, Domingo's legs weren't strong to begin with. It didn't take long for him to begin to lose his stance. By now, Marco had a firm grip on the revolver and held it between his and Domingo's bodies. Warm blood was gushing from Marco's wounds, bathing his hands and soaking his clothes. Marco pushed with his shoulder, sending Domingo down on his back. Marco landed on top of him. Still gripping the weapon with one hand, Domingo struggled to get Marco's body off of him, while Marco fought to stay on top.

All that had taken no more than four seconds. As soon as Marco had made his move, Jack had gone for the Glock, and with it in his hand, made his way over to Domingo and Marco. He was too late. The two shots rang out before he got there. Jack didn't even have the time to curse.

"Marco!" Jack shouted, standing above the two bleeding, struggling men on the ground.

Guessing what Jack wanted, Marco moved his head out of the way. Jack fired a round, drilling a hole where Domingo's nose was. The struggling instantly stopped. Marco's head tiredly came to rest on the dead man's chest.

With the look of a worried father on his face, Jack crouched next to Marco onto the dry, sandy ground. He rolled him off Domingo's body and gently lay him down on his back.

"Hey," Jack uttered lowly, while his eyes ran on autopilot, scanning Marco's body in search of the injuries. He didn't have to look far. Marco's front was covered in blood and the already large blood pool was growing from the center outward. _Dammit_, Jack cursed inwardly, deducing that a major blood vessel or organ had been injured. He pulled Marco's shirt out of his pants and felt for the entry wounds. He found one at the height of the liver and the other a couple of inches further up. The latter might have pierced his lungs. Cursing in a low voice this time, he peeled off his own shirt, curled it into a ball and pressed it down on Marco's wounds with both hands.

Marco closed his eyes, gritting his teeth in visible pain.

"Hang on," Jack said, looking around. There was no one he could call for help, but he knew that after what had just happened, the Coast Guard and the first responders couldn't be far.

"Hang on, stay with me," he repeated. Unrelenting, the blood soaked the shirt in seconds, and flowed between his fingers. Refusing to just accept it, Jack pressed down harder.

Marco's eyes remained closed for a while, as he fought for every breath while the blood filled his lungs. When he reopened them, he forced them to focus on Jack. His vision was already slightly blurred but he was able to make out Jack's stern features.

"Thank you," Jack started. "That was very brave of you."

Marco moaned, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and back again. Despite the pain, he managed to produce a slight smile.

"It was stupid..." he replied, "but the only choice I had."

"You did great," Jack stated with conviction. He was about to say more, but Marco coughed blood, interrupting him.

Then he added, "I didn't try to play the hero... I just couldn't let him take you down."

"I know..." Jack said, but thought, _I wish you'd let him_. There wasn't much in his life worth saving, and it surely didn't justify losing a good man like this.

Marco squeezed his eyes shut as a vicious jolt of pain coursed through his body. A few moments later, through shallow breaths, he whispered,

"Jack... Promise me... Look in on Danielle and her kids."

Jack pressed down even harder, causing Marco to moan in pain. He wasn't about to just let him slip away. "Marco, don't give up. Stay with me. The EMTs will be here any minute."

Marco weakly shook his head. He gently placed a hand on top of Jack's and slightly pushed it away.

"Jack. I won't make it, and you know it," he said like he'd already made peace with the thought. "This was partly my fault... If I'd acted earlier, none of this would have happened..." He coughed again. There was so much more that he wanted to say, but he felt his strength leaving him. "Tell Danielle I love her. Promise me..."

Jack flexed his jaw, still unwilling to give up. "Don't -"

"Jack... Promise me."

Eventually, Jack nodded: "I promise."

**Having** taken Tony down, Sanchez decided that there was no reason to stick around. He climbed behind the steering wheel of the Hummer. All that was left from the burning gasoline on the windshield were tiny tongues of fires still licking here and there. They didn't really impair his view. He slammed the Hummer into Drive and skidded off.

Seb got to the broken window just in time to see Tony fall. From the distance, in the dark, he couldn't tell whether Tony was dead or alive, he couldn't see his chest rising or his limbs moving. The thought of losing another sibling, and his closest one at that, made his movements freeze for a moment. He couldn't take it, not Tony, not today.

He gave himself a push, sprayed cover fire while he climbed out of the window and jumped out. While Sanchez drove away, he raced over to his brother, his legs already feeling numb, his hands cold with fear. But as he came closer, he finally heard Tony growl, trying to breathe. Modest relief washed over the older brother, but he didn't dare be at ease just yet.

"Tony!" he called from close by and a couple of seconds later, kneeled next to him. "You okay, Kiddo?" Seb asked, scanning Tony's body for any bleeding wounds.

Tony was still fighting the dull pain and trying to fill his lungs with air. He'd tried to stretch his upper body to counteract the cramp caused by the blow to his solar plexus. For a minute, every breath had felt like he was trying to lift a brick wall that was sitting on his chest, but the feeling was finally fading away.

"The vest..." he managed to utter, "It held."

"Thank God," Seb whispered, more to himself. He set to work on Tony's Kevlar vest, trying to loosen it and get the extra weight off Tony's chest.

Tony grabbed Sebastián's arm, and stopped him.

"Michelle... Find Michelle," he said, and added, "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

Tony nodded, and glanced at the Hummer's backlights disappearing into the night. He couldn't let Sanchez escape.

Despite Jack's efforts to stop the blood flow, the blood stain in the dirt underneath Marco had grown to a considerable size within just a couple of minutes. Finally, at Marco's urging, Jack had given up and eased the pressure on Marco's wounds.

When Sanchez's Hummer started to move, Jack heard the engine before he saw the vehicle. Its low, aggressive roar was distinctive. Jack glanced up from behind the truck. He had no view of the house, the van, or the Hummer, but a few moments later, the Hummer rolled into Jack's field of vision.

Marco raised his eyes towards the sound, too. Jack glanced down and then back up, torn between the animal desire to dismember the man who'd caused so much misery today and the human need to stay with the dying man who'd just taken a bullet for him.

Sanchez's Hummer made it back to the road. Its tires squealed and it accelerated away. Marco followed it with his eyes for another second and then looked at Jack.

"Jack, you need to go," he said and coughed. More blood exited through his mouth but he continued, "If Sanchez gets away, it's all for nothing."

Jack hesitated another moment, just staring at the Hummer.

"Jack. Please."

Jack let out a breath and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. When he reopened them, he was determined. He gave Marco a long look and sincerely said,

"Thank you. For everything."

After lingering for just a moment, he then stood and looked at Marco again. "Thank you."

With that, he turned and ran over to the truck. Climbing inside, he yanked the driver's corpse out of the cabin and took his seat. Then he set the truck into motion. As he drove past Marco, he glanced down, hating the thought of letting him die alone. He made a mental note to go back and check up on him when it was all over. Maybe he wouldn't be too late.

**Tony's **breathing was easier, but he was still fighting pain. The vest had kept the rounds out of his body, but that didn't mean he was uninjured. He expected dark, circular bruises within the hour, and that was the best case scenario. There was also the possibility that a rib or two could have been cracked, in addition to whatever damage his ribs had incurred earlier. But all of that was still a hell of a lot better than being dead. Anxiously, he threw a glance at the van. He forced a deep breath in, getting his chest to rise. Exhaling, he started to prop himself up on his elbows.

Seb had gone to the van and was about to start working on the doors when he heard Tony move.

"Hey, hey, hey," he ran over to Tony again and crouched next to him. "What are you doing?" he asked, gently pushing Tony's shoulders toward the ground.

"Going after Sanchez," Tony retorted and pushed himself up with a groan. "Get that door opened. Stay here with Michelle. Do everything you can for her."

Seb was going to argue, but knew it'd be pointless. He'd just be wasting time. With a sigh, he relented. "Fine. Just be careful."

"Yeah."

With that, Tony staggered over to the jeep. Finding the keys in the ignition, he started the engine and floored the gas pedal.

"Open that door!" he yelled while driving away.

**Jack **hadn't bothered to toss the other dead man out of the truck. The limp body half slid off the seat, and was leaned on the doorframe, shaking up and down with the rhythm of the bumps in the road. The road was unlit at this time of the night. At a width of 22 feet, it was just about wide enough to allow for two-lane traffic. Jack drove without rush, only making sure that he was close enough to see the rear lights of the Hummer at all times. The heavy cargo truck was rolling down the road much slower than the Hummer, but a break-neck speed car chase wasn't what Jack was going for. He just needed to stay on Sanchez's trail for a little while. If things went as planned, the chase would be over within half a mile.

But then, a pair of headlights lit up in Jack's rear-view mirror. He watched them for a moment. The vehicle seemed to be racing down the road. Jack glanced at the two Kalashnikovs on the floor of the cabin and, for a moment, thought about picking one up. Nothing back at the beach had suggested that anyone from Sanchez's crew was still alive. There had been no gunfire when he left...

He checked on Sanchez, and then went back to watching the rear-view mirror. The vehicle - which Jack now recognized as one of Sanchez's jeeps - was gaining on him. He tried to see who was driving it, but it was too dark to make out the driver's features. _Better safe than sorry_, Jack thought and made a decision. Rather than picking up a AK-47, he drew the Glock from the holster, and waited.

It took a few more seconds for the jeep to catch up with the truck. It swerved to the left lane and then broke from behind the truck. When it reached the cabin's height, Jack finally realized that the driver was Tony.

Knowing that he needed to ID himself to him before Tony made any wrong assumptions, Jack yelled Tony's name through the open passenger side window.

Tony glanced at the tall cabin, surprised to see Jack behind the wheel. He had an AK-47 in his hand, its muzzle pointed up, fully prepared to shoot whoever was driving if they turned out to be the enemy. After Jack made himself known, Tony lowered the Kalashnikov to the passenger seat. Jack was trying to tell him something, but the truck's roar was meddling with the sound of Jack's voice.

"Jack!" Tony honked twice. "Jack, let me through!"

"Tony, slow down!" Jack shouted. "Slow down!"

**Sanchez **was flying down the road like a maniac. He knew beyond doubt that none of his own people could have been driving the truck. That meant that he had to try and lose this guy, preferably before the truck ran him off the road. On a different note, he was also sure that it was only a matter of minutes before the cops got here. And he wouldn't allow himself to get arrested. Ugly prison jumpsuits weren't exactly the clothes he wanted to spend the rest of his life in. He wouldn't end up like his father; he'd sworn that to himself a very long time ago. And then one of his own jeeps appeared out of nowhere and drove alongside the truck. Sanchez did the math. It could hardly be Domingo. He hadn't seen or heard from him since the shootout began.

Sanchez floored the gas pedal. He knew the road well. The yellow boom at the gate was coming up shortly, and then a curve. He wouldn't stop at the boom. When it came into sight, he kept the speed up and drove right through it. The wooden boom broke like a matchstick, and flew out of sight. The curve was coming next. Sanchez eased off the gas just a little and took it like a racer, staying on its inner side.

He glanced in the rear view mirror again to see the jeep overtaking the truck. When he looked ahead again, his eyes suddenly widened in horror. Right behind the curve, another jeep was parked between two Dumpsters, blocking the road.

Sanchez slammed on the brakes and yanked the steering wheel to the right. A second later, though, the heavy Hummer crashed almost frontally into the Dumpster on the right side of the road. Sanchez's lifted his arms in front of his head for protection just in time to prevent his forehead from connecting with the steering wheel directly. The Hummer's tail end collided with the jeep. Both cars connected for a moment while spinning, and then separated again, only to slam into each other once more with the opposite ends. Glass shattered and burst, showering both vehicles before scattering across the road. The Jeep lost the wrestling match and rolled over to its top with the force of the impact. It slid away, while the much heavier armored Hummer remained on its wheels and drew several pirouettes like a figure skater on ice. It rotated until it slammed into the second Dumpster and finally skidded to a stop at a lamp post, wrapping its left back door around the pole.

After that, everything went quiet.


	23. Revenge

A/N: Well, here we are, the finale awaits you. I hope you've enjoyed the story. Please give me your thoughts, I enjoy and thrive on them.  
I will try to write and put up an epilog at some point, but I seriously cannot promise you when that might happen. My life is changing rapidly this year, and spare time (with a state of mind fit for writing) is scarce. At this point, the epilog is just an idea, and I haven't had time to write Word One of it yet.

In the meantime, with 24 finished and gone, I'd like to say thanks to the show for giving me the inspiration to write, and thanks to you for sticking with me and reading.

* * *

**As soon as **he heard the expected crash, Jack braked, as the truck with its mass would need a good stretch of the road to stop. With the wheels beginning to slow, he wondered whether Sanchez had survived the impact with the improvised roadblock. For Tony's sake, he hoped that the answer was yes. Nothing would be less satisfying to Tony than if he simply found Sanchez dead.

**Tony **had overtaken the truck and trailed behind the Hummer as fast as the Jeep would go. Having heard the collision, though, he eased off the gas, not wanting to become a part of it. He couldn't believe his luck: had Sanchez really crashed? When he came up behind the curve, though, he realized that luck had nothing to do with it; the crash site looked more like the result of an intentional road block. One Dumpster was turned on its side, its lid standing open, the trash scattered around along the road. A jeep with a smoking engine lay on its top ten yards further down and another Dumpster with a big bump in one corner stood at the side of the road. The Hummer, still on its wheels, had come to a stop with the passenger door against a lamp post. It didn't seem totaled.

Tony couldn't help but gloat a little over the crash. It served Sanchez well. The more injured he was, the better. Just as long as he wasn't already dead. Normally, Tony wasn't the kind of guy who enjoyed other people's pain, but in Sanchez's case, he was willing to make an exception. He looked around for Sanchez but missed him at first glance. He hoped that the bastard was still in the car; either that or very close to it. He couldn't imagine him being able to get anywhere far enough fast enough to hide, not after this big a crash.

**Sanchez **had somehow wiggled his way out of the car. Using just his arms, he was struggling to pull himself toward some bushes. Both his legs had been rendered useless. His left knee had been injured by Michelle earlier, and now his right leg was twisted in an unnatural position, broken at the shin. He stopped moving every few seconds to wipe his eyes clean of the blood that was coming from a bad cut just below his hair line. His nose was burning from the impact with the steering wheel, and he'd actually wondered why he hadn't been knocked unconscious for longer than a few seconds following the accident. Finally, his chest felt sore - the safety belt might have saved his life, but it had no doubt burned a lasting impression into his skin.

The painkillers he'd taken hours ago had worn off, so the full force of the old and new pain was upon him. He had to ignore it, though, if he wanted to survive. Because whoever was in that truck and jeep probably had other plans...

As a pair of headlights turned the corner, he pushed himself off the ground even more strongly. He had to get behind the bushes at the side of the road.

**As the j**eep's headlights washed over the Hummer, Tony noticed that the driver's door stood open. _The son of a bitch's on the run_, he realized, and instinctively started to scan the surroundings while grabbing the AK-47.

Sanchez was only about ten feet up the road when Tony spotted him. Having heard the jeep's engine, he nervously glanced over his shoulder. Seeing Tony behind him, he turned to his back and looked at him with a mixture of defiance and fear.

Tony stood up, but lingered inside the jeep, taking a moment to look at Sanchez's hands. There was no firearm or other weapons in sight so Tony let his eyes check Sanchez's body from head to toe. He didn't even try to hide the nasty pleasure he got from seeing the injuries and the pain-filled expression on Sanchez's face. The bastard more than deserved a taste of what he'd been handing out to people around him. Every drop of blood on Sanchez felt like balm to Tony's soul. His eyes narrowed while overwhelming hatred slowly began to surface. Getting Sanchez arrested wouldn't do, but simply putting a bullet in his brain would be too merciful.

The low roar of the cargo truck was getting closer and as the tall headlights peered from behind the curve, Sanchez glanced at them, then back at Tony. In his inferior position, facing Almeida was bad enough, but three was a crowd. He waited for Tony to speak, but Tony just stood there, gripping the steering wheel.

Sanchez squirmed uncomfortably, causing jolts of pain to course through his body. He didn't really feel like dragging things out, and he was realistic enough to know that it was over. All he wanted was for it to be over quickly. Hoping to provoke Tony into ending things while they were still alone, Sanchez mumbled,

"Finish it, you coward."

Tony stoically kept his eyes on Sanchez, nourishing his hatred. Shaking his head ever so slightly, he said lowly,

"I've waited for too long."

"Finish it," Sanchez insisted. "Or go to Hell."

Tony scoffed. "You first..."

He sat back in the seat and then slowly eased off the brake. The jeep started to carefully roll forward.

Sanchez's eyes went wide in shock as the jeep's left tire closed in on his right leg.

"What the Hell are you doing?" he yelled, trying to wiggle away.

Tony kept inching forward. Though he was boiling on the inside, the expression on his face was emotionless, his eyes cold. A moment later, the right trouser leg got trapped underneath the front wheel, then the skin of Sanchez's broken right leg slowly followed, as the wheel rolled over it. Sanchez screamed in agony, but Tony kept going until he had the wheel right on top of the leg. Then he cut the engine.

"Tony!" a voice called from somewhere behind him. He knew it was Jack but didn't acknowledge his presence. Instead, he exited the jeep and went over to Sanchez's head.

"Tony!" Jack yelled again. This time he was close by.

Tony raised a foot and kicked Sanchez in the temple. Not full force, just enough to give him a taste of what was coming. Sanchez let out a loud groan, instinctively lifting both arms to his head for protection.

"Bastardo..." he managed to utter through clenched teeth.

Jack entered Tony's field of vision and positioned himself a couple of yards in front of him. He made no attempt to try and hold Tony back. He just calmly uttered his name.

Tony finally raised his eyes to Jack and silently dug out a knife from his pants. Jack saw it but remained rooted to the spot. The knife wasn't meant for him.

Tony popped the switchblade. His arm hung loosely at his side, but his hold on the knife was firm. His face was sweaty, his dark hair moist, his clothes torn. He looked every bit the vengeful husband that Sanchez saw him as.

With a dead stare in his eyes, Tony replied, "I'm not turning him over to the cops."

"You're crazy! Loco!" Sanchez shouted with fear in his voice. Suddenly, prison didn't sound so bad.

"I'm nowhere near as crazy as you," Tony mumbled back.

His eyes never moved from Jack. He knew exactly what Jack was thinking, and Jack knew damn well where this was going. There was no need for long discussions. Unflinching, unmoving, Tony simply said:

"Jack. Walk away."

Jack eyed Tony with interest, both wanting to protect him from himself and to let him do the only thing that felt just. Even though vengeance went against every civilized law, against every rule in the book, Jack understood Tony's thirst for revenge maybe better than anyone. He'd been in Tony's shoes, he'd made both choices. Killing Nina hadn't brought Teri back but it had been the only real closure, and Jack felt that he had no right to snatch it away from Tony.

It took him only a couple of seconds to make a decision. Throwing a glance at the sorry figure on the ground, he nodded his approval.

"You have ten minutes. But if the cops get here, finish it and pull out."

Tony nodded only slightly. While Jack turned around, he remained standing with an emotionless stare that drilled through Sanchez's eyes. Jack returned to the cargo truck and climbed in without looking back even once. As the truck roared into a U-turn, Tony inhaled loudly. It felt like he'd forgotten to breathe for at least five minutes.

Sanchez looked like a big bug lying on its back. Now that Tony was alone with him again, the ugly images and crushing emotions from the past hours and days returned: the pain, the anger, the fear of what Sanchez and his goons might have done to Michelle, the guilt at leaving her behind, and the agonizing fact that he still didn't know whether she was alive...

The physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional abyss he'd fallen into. With a tidal wave of rage washing over him, Tony brought his right leg up and stomped down, with full weight, on the lower half of Sanchez's chest. He heard cartilage crack, causing Sanchez to scream like a squashed cat. As Sanchez brought his arms down, wrapping them around his chest, Tony kicked him in the head and Sanchez went limp.

_You're not gonna die on me yet, you son of a bitch_, Tony thought, and crouched above Sanchez's head to check the neck artery. The pulse was still there.

He then straightened up so that he could reach for his belt and then pulled it free. Next, he yanked both of Sanchez's arms up and secured them with the belt, then shoved its free end underneath Sanchez's own belt and tied the one to the other.

Giving Sanchez a once-over, he decided to make a phone call. He dug through Sanchez's pockets until he found a cell phone. Sliding it open, he punched in the number of the phone that Seb was carrying. He waited until Seb picked up, then simply asked,

"Is she alive?"

Seb glanced at a female form on the ground and then back up. Nodding into the phone, he replied, "Yeah."

Tony closed his eyes and paused for a second or two, trying to figure out whether Seb was telling the truth. Deciding that he probably was and that it was better not to ask for details right now, Tony put the phone down and disconnected the call.

Then he sat on Sanchez's chest and slapped him. Blood from existing injuries bathed Tony's hand and sprayed his clothes. Tony brought his hand back the other way and hit the face again.

In-between the blows, the trafficker woke with a jerk. It took him a second to realize that he was awake. Tony's backhand hit him before he managed to remember the accident. The third blow came as a punch. It made Sanchez feel like his whole world was burning. His head jerked from side to side as Tony's fists connected with his face again and again.

After three punches, Tony stopped. Coldly, without compassion, he stared at Sanchez's bloody face. The man's broken lips, fractured nose and blood-filled eye sockets stared back at him, and made him feel - nothing...

He paused to breathe. For some reason, he tried to dig deeper, like he needed to prove something to himself. His breathing was faster, as was his heartbeat, but he felt absolutely no remorse over what he had done, or over what he was about to do, even though it was against the law. All he felt was rage.

Sanchez spit out a mixture of blood and saliva and turned his head to look at Tony. In the headlights of the Hummer, Tony's dark eyes were staring him down. He spit again, and tried to bring his eyes to focus. He failed. Blood blurred his vision again, and Tony's face became just another shape. He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked up again.

"Come on," he managed to whisper. "Get it over with."

Tony scoffed. "Not yet."

"You don't want cops to find you..." Sanchez tried, and spit more blood. "beating up a helpless man..."

Tony placed his left hand firmly over Sanchez's mouth, grabbed the knife he'd set aside earlier and suddenly stabbed Sanchez right below the shoulder. In the flesh, he twisted the blade, deepening the wound. Then he pulled it out with a strong jerk of his arm and retorted, through Sanchez's muffled scream,

"I'll take my chances."

He then slid off Sanchez's body and placed the bloody tip of the knife on the bulge between Sanchez's legs. Applying slight pressure to El Colonel's balls, Tony looked up. Sanchez's face was filled with blank horror.

Tony took a moment to assess his own state of mind. He still felt no sympathy whatsoever. He was fully prepared to kill this pig in the worst way possible and feel no remorse over it. Sanchez no doubt deserved it. But a small voice in Tony's head kept reminding him that he was indeed about to slaughter a defenseless man, commit cold-blooded murder. Whether or not Sanchez deserved to die wasn't a question. People had most definitely died at his hands, whether directly or by proxy, as a result of his trafficking activities. The death penalty was the only just punishment for his crimes. But something held Tony back still. There was a line he was about to cross. If he did, would he and this monster become one and the same?

Sanchez must have sensed Tony's hesitation, because the fear on his face subsided, and he began to smirk, as if not believing that Tony could go through with his threat.

The anger within Tony came right back up, and he pushed all hesitation to the back of his mind. He'd deal with the consequences later. This smug bastard couldn't walk away.

It was bad enough that he'd beaten, tortured and threatened Michelle... For that alone, Sanchez deserved the most excruciating death imaginable. But there had been one other thing that Tony's mind had been tormenting him with for the last several hours: the horrifying image of Sanchez bent over Michelle... He simply couldn't take it.

He increased the pressure on the knife.

"What have you done to Michelle?" he questioned, not managing to keep his voice level.

Sanchez alternated between staring at the knife in Tony's hand and at Tony's face.

To Tony it was clear that Sanchez was contemplating an answer. He wasn't going to wait until he contrived one.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?" Tony yelled and jabbed the knife to the outside of Sanchez's left thigh.

Sanchez's eyes shot open with terror for that split second before the knife cut his leg open, and then he screamed once again.

Not giving him any time to recover, Tony returned the knife to its former position on top of Sanchez's genitals, and now pressed down considerably harder. He felt the fabric start to part underneath the tip of the knife but he didn't care. He _needed _to know. With all his injuries, Sanchez could black out any second now, and Tony wasn't about to let him go without getting an answer.

"Did you rape her?... DID YOU RAPE HER?"

Sanchez regained control enough to take a normal breath. He spat again and whispered,

"I don't know what _my men _did."

These words seemed to rupture Tony's heart. His eyes flashed with rage. Letting out a battle-cry like yell, he raised the knife high, and stuck it into the bulge on Sanchez's pants.

Sanchez's head came up as he let out a blood curdling scream, which Tony cut short by punching him viciously to the forehead. He felt the man's skull connect with the asphalt below and knew he was probably dead on impact. Still, he kept hitting him, blinded by rage, until his own fists begged him to stop.

When he finally did, he didn't bother to check for a pulse. It was over. Finally.

Out of breath and with blood all over his hands, face and clothes, Tony slightly slumped forward, closed his eyes and rested his hands on his thighs. He let out a long sigh. His fists were numb and the rest of his body ached. After releasing all of his anger, he felt kind of paralyzed. Empty. Burned out. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally.

It was over; the object of his hatred was gone and all he'd been left with was fear: fear or what he'd do if Michelle died, of what she'd do if she survived. Of what all this would do to her, to them. Of possibly never knowing what had really happened to her...

He thought about making another call to Seb but dreaded it at the same time. He wanted to hear again that she was alive, but what if she wasn't? However he turned it, it looked bad. It would devastate him if she was gone, but if she survived, could she ever be the same?

He slowly clenched both hands into fists and squeezed his eyes closed even harder. He knew damn well that there were situations in which dying seemed easier than living with the consequences; he'd been there and he hadn't handled it too well. It was the darkest time of his life, and he'd taken Michelle right down with him. Until he pushed her away and she couldn't take it any longer. But that was then, they'd just recovered from that. This was Michelle, and he was shit scared of going down that road with her.

How could they _ever _recover from this?

He opened his eyes but dared not move. He wanted to go, he wanted to be with her. He knew the cops were on their way and that he should leave the scene, but somehow, sitting with a dead body, with hard evidence of a solved problem, seemed more comforting than going back to the beach and possibly facing a situation he could not be able to live with.

Sanchez's phone suddenly rang, and shook Tony from the trance-like state he'd fallen into. After a few seconds, he picked the phone up from the road and put it to his ear without saying a word.

Not wasting time on pleasantries, Jack simply asked, "Are you done?"

For a few moments, Tony listened to the swooshing of the ocean in the background. The gunfire had ceased. Then his stare once again fell on the bloody face below him and he replied,

"Yeah."

"Good, get back here." Jack was still in tactical mode. "PD units are twelve minutes out. The Coast Guard is moving in too."

Numbly, Tony stood and directed himself to the jeep. "EMTs?"

"ETA is ten minutes."

"Alright, I'm on my way."

Tony hung up. As he climbed back into the Jeep, he decided to place the phone call that he'd been thinking about making for a while. He dialed the number, then slammed the jeep into gear, and while waiting for the phone to ring, he took off the bloody bullet-proof vest and tossed it in the seat next to him, so as not to shock Michelle with all that blood. At the second ring, the wheels rolled over Sanchez's dead body and at the third one, he U-turned toward the beach.

It took at least five rings for the person on the other end to pick up. The voice that answered was deep and sounded sleepy, which wasn't surprising, considering that it was close to 4 in the morning.

"Buchanan..." the word came slowly, then silence took over as Bill switched on a bedside lamp and glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

"Bill, it's Tony, Tony Almeida. Sorry to wake you but this is urgent."

**When** Bill heard Tony's name, for a moment there, he considered hanging up. Surely whatever Tony had to say to him could wait until the morning. They weren't exactly friends. The last Bill had seen of him, Tony was helping out at CTU and then pulled Michelle out of the work she'd loved. Plus, he'd somehow convinced her to come back to him, despite his drunken escapades mere months earlier; escapades that had led to a painful divorce. According to Michelle, he was dry now and things between them had gotten better, but you never knew with the drunks...

Of course, Bill's feelings towards Tony were tainted; he had never quite gotten over Michelle. Though they'd never really been together, he kept asking himself whether things between them could have worked out if she hadn't been in love with Tony as much as she had. Deep inside, he believed the answer was yes. And he missed her on a professional level, too. There had been several occasions where her experience and knowledge of CTU L.A. would have been useful. But he respected her decision: it was hers to make. He didn't have to like it. Nevertheless, he could think of better ways to start a day than to receive a call in the middle of the night from the man who'd caused it all. But before he could protest, Tony's demanding, yet pleading voice and the word "urgent" caught his attention.

Trying to set aside his personal feelings for Tony and to answer neutrally, Bill cleared his throat and levelly uttered, "What is it?"

"It's about Michelle. I need your help." Tony swerved around the Dumpsters in the middle of the road and continued up, toward the beach. "You're still in L.A.?"

"Yeah," Bill replied instantly. The mention of Michelle made him throw his feet over the edge of the bed and sit up. "Is Michelle okay?"

"No. No, she's not," Tony answered sincerely. "And I'm gonna need you to help make sure it doesn't get any worse than it already is."

He paused just to take a breath. Trusting that, for Michelle's sake, Bill could at least temporarily get over whatever animosity there still was between them, he immediately got down to business.

"Bill, I need you to mobilize someone at the regional office in Sacramento, someone who can keep their mouth shut, and send them to secure a crime scene up here and keep the details within a tight circle." It went against Tony's instincts and training to disclose his location on a regular cell phone - you never knew who else was listening, but since Bill wasn't at CTU and couldn't pull the coordinates off the phone's GPS, he had no other choice. "We're at Doran Beach, just outside Bodega Bay. The local law enforcement units are on their way, but CTU should claim jurisdiction on this one. It should be doable since ex-CTU agents were involved."

Bill tried to make sense of what he'd just heard, but decided that it wasn't enough. "Tony, slow down. What the Hell is going on? I'm not doing anything until you-"

"Bill, I can't explain right now-"

Bill frowned. "Try."

"Not over the phone!" Tony underlined resolutely. Bill had every right to ask but there was no getting into it now. "Bill, believe me, this is too big for the local PD to handle! The FBI's gonna be all over this soon. If you bring in CTU now we can protect Michelle," _and Jack_, he added in his mind, " before the whole damn alphabet soup moves in!"

"Protect her from _what_?"

"Bill, please, I _don't have time _now!" Tony said a little louder than he wanted to, "I have to take her to a hospital."

The smoldering old van and the transport van that Michelle had been in came into view, and Tony wanted to end the conversation before getting to her. Bill was silent, still hesitating.

"Look, I wouldn't call you if it wasn't important," he said pleadingly. "Send CTU in, and I'll explain everything when you get here." He stopped the jeep and cut the engine. Knowing he'd been a little on the edge, he added, "Please."

Bill stood up from the bed and walked to the closet whose doors were adorned with full-length mirrors. Sliding one door open, he relented. "All right. I'll get the scene secured immediately and be there first thing in the morning."

Tony nodded. "Thank you, I appreciate it. I'll see you then."

**Tony **slammed the jeep into Park and jumped out of the vehicle, now suddenly feeling his pulse rise. It felt like he'd been gone for hours, and now, this close to Michelle, he was scared for her again.

Two dark forms, their backs to him, were kneeling on the ground outside the van. Tony couldn't see Michelle, but he guessed she was lying on the ground between them. As the jeep approached, Jack turned his head, then slowly stood.

"How is she?" Tony called from a few steps away, but didn't wait for an answer. Jack stepped in his way but Tony pushed past him and was at Michelle's side in less than four seconds.

She was lying on a field blanket in the sand, Seb's jacket covering her shoulders and upper body. Her eyes were closed, and for a moment there, Tony's heart jumped with fear.

Guessing Tony's thoughts, Seb quickly explained, "She just passed out again. She's exhausted."

Tony glanced at his brother, then at Michelle again and nodded. Her chest was rising and falling slowly, regularly. His whole being ached at seeing her like this. He reminded himself that at this point, he had to be grateful that she was even alive.

He was running a hand through her hair when he felt Jack behind him.

Jack rested a hand on Tony's left shoulder. "Tony," he said lowly.

Tony looked up. Jack was standing one stop away, with the Glock holstered, and the black sports bag that had served as weapons bag in his free hand. He looked like a man on the run, which, in essence, was what he had been since they'd faked his death back at CTU. His left arm wore a long trail of blood. He was still wearing the Kevlar vest, but now that the op was over, he hoped he wouldn't need it again.

Tony stood and looked at Jack. The rings around his eyes were deep and dark, and his face was covered in blonde stubble and blood spatter. They both hadn't slept much in over fifty hours, and looking at Jack now, with the adrenaline wearing off, Tony's body seemed to remember it. He also remembered that Jack had had no reason to stay and help other than friendship.

Wordlessly, somehow solemnly, he extended his right hand. Jack took it and pulled Tony into a brotherly hug.

"I'm sorry I can't stay," Jack whispered. "Take care of Michelle. And yourself."

"I will," Tony whispered back.

He wanted to say so much more. Jack was still not in the clear and had a lot ahead of him if he wanted to disappear again. But the approaching sounds of whining squad cars, roaring coast guard boats and thumping helicopter rotors told him that time was running out. So it all boiled down to two words: "Thank you."

Jack pulled back, and looked at Sebastián. "Thank you both," he said sincerely. "I'm glad all of you are still alive."

As if suddenly remembering something, Tony looked around. "Where is Marco?"

Jack tilted his head towards the cargo truck. He'd checked up on him after leaving Tony with Sanchez but found him dead. Guilt at having failed to protect Marco was still nagging at him and would continue to do so for a long time.

"Behind the cargo truck," he answered and glanced away before adding, "He didn't make it."

Tony pensively looked toward the truck, then dropped his gaze and heaved a sigh. Raising his eyes to Jack, he promised, "I'll get his body to Danielle."

Jack nodded again. "Thanks."

He still planned on visiting Danielle personally. He'd made the promise to Marco, and he wanted to make sure that she fully understood why she couldn't breathe a word to anyone about what had happened. No one could know that Jack Bauer was still out there. And after that, he'd have to lay low in a different area. He'd exposed himself too much over the past couple of days. Sebastopol was no longer safe.

Seb gave a small cough to clear his throat and get Tony and Jack's attention. Though aware that they needed to talk some things through, he also knew that now wasn't the time. The sound and mighty headlights of the Coast Guard were practically upon them.

"Jack, if you want to disappear before the boys get here, you have to go _now_."

"Yeah," Jack agreed.

Michelle stirred and opened her eyes. They fell on Jack first, and, having heard Seb's words, she realized that Jack was leaving. She tried to smile, though she couldn't quite tell if her muscles were obeying her.

"Good luck," she managed to utter weakly.

Jack crouched and gently squeezed her hand. "You too. Get well soon."

As Jack stood again, Tony kneeled by her side, glad that she was awake.

"Hey..." he whispered, extending his hand to touch her face.

As his fingers brushed her skin, Michelle reflexively flinched. Tony instantly pulled his hand back, for a moment afraid that he'd hurt her. A second later, he realized he'd probably just made too eager a move, not giving her time to register his presence. He knew better than to believe that she was really afraid of him, but her reaction still almost broke his heart. Knowing what she'd been through, he tried not to let it, yet he couldn't stand the thought of what they must have done to her to get her this far. She seemed so very fragile... It was starting to dawn on him just how long and hard the road to recovery would be...

"'Chelle, it's me, Sweetheart," he whispered, so as to keep his voice from breaking. "It's me, it's all right..."

Michelle brought her gaze up to focus on the face above her. It took her a moment to even understand who it was. She hadn't seen him since that time at the compound when she got shot. When she recognized him, she realized it must have been his hand that had touched her and relaxed a little.

"Hey..." she uttered. "You're here..."

"I am," Tony nodded and swallowed hard. "I'm here-"

His voice trailed off. Gentler, softer, he slid his hand closer to her again and closed his palm around four of her fingers, giving them a slight squeeze. He felt her twitch again, but didn't let go this time. His heart ached like never before. Her skin was cold, and still wet. Sand had mixed with her pretty hair. Seb's jacket covered the injuries on her torso and arm. There was no visible bleeding; Seb and Jack would have taken care of the worst injuries when they found her. He wanted to check her gun shot wound himself, but was afraid to startle her again by leaning over her to the other side. He refrained. The medical team would be there soon. He'd go with her. They wouldn't make him leave her side. She'd have a hard time allowing anyone else to touch her anyhow.

He felt his eyes well up and told himself to regain control instantly. He could fall apart later. He noticed she was trying to smile, and forced a small smile onto his own lips. That's how they both were, always putting up a brave face to reassure the other, even if things were clearly not so good. But when he looked past the bravado and into her eyes, he found a Michelle he hadn't known before: a scared, scarred, broken Michelle who would need a lot of time to digest everything that had happened, and this in turn frightened him to the core.

Her eyes suddenly narrowed as if she was trying to focus on something. "Is that your blood?"

Tony shook his head "No," and led an open hand over his face, trying to get rid of some of the blood, realizing that the sight of it must be additionally scaring her. "It's Sanchez's," he explained and waited a beat, so she could process that bit of information before he added, "He's dead. It's over."

She stared at him silently for a few seconds while he gently ran his thumb across the back of her hand. She was about to open her mouth to say something but he spoke first.

"Save your strength, Sweetheart. Just lie still. Help is on the way."

Michelle nodded almost unnoticably, while her eyelids slowly covered her irises for a moment and then uncovered them again. While a long breath escaped her, she solemnly squeezed Tony's hand.

**Jack **stepped onto the Doran Beach Road, the sports bag slung over his shoulders. He'd pieced together a plan. Once on the other side of the road, he would swim across Campbell Cove, and hope to avoid the Coast Guard altogether. He could make it to the opposite shore even with the injured arm: he _had _to, it was as simple as that. From there, he would have to secure some transportation, yet such things had never hindered him. Then, he'd go straight home but only stay there long enough to shower, shave and pick up his things. He didn't have many belongings to begin with. He kept a rucksack packed with necessities in the back of a closet, so he'd be ready to go at a minute's notice. He'd always known that the day may come when he would have to run again. Going home would be just a short stopover on his way to yet another new life.

Before he reached the rocks separating the road from the water, he stopped and turned around. Both Tony and Seb were crouching, one at each side of Michelle, Tony holding her right hand. There was something about that image that made Jack commit it to memory. He had no idea if or when he'd ever see them again.

When Jack stopped moving, Tony glanced up, as if he'd felt his friend's stare from the distance.

Jack met Tony's gaze, and shouted, over the approaching noise, "Tell Chloe I'll need a new cover! Something _away _from the woods this time."

Despite his inner turmoil, Tony gave a slight grin. "You got it, Jack!"

Jack had started to move again when Tony called after him.

"Hey!.. How about Frank?"

Jack looked over his shoulder, smiling knowingly. "Sounds good to me."

Before leaving, he looked past the beach at the ocean. The Coast Guard helicopters were already on top of Sanchez's ship, and their own Zodiacs were surrounding the ones carrying the human cargo from Latin America. Satisfied, Jack turned away and accelerated into a jog.

Before Jack ducked away, Seb asked, "Why Frank?"

"He reminds me of Clint Eastwood."

Seb nodded with a smirk, remembering 'In the Line of Fire'. Clint's character, Frank, had been one of their favorites.

Jack stepped over the rocks, took off his shoes and trousers and stuffed them into the sports bag. The fabric would get heavy when wet and there was no need making swimnming any harder than it would already be. He left the shoes on the shore. Just as police cruisers and emergency medical teams started to pull up on the scene, he waded into the cold water of the Pacific Ocean. After giving his body just three seconds to adjust to the temperature, he took a dive and began to swim.


End file.
